tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9247212654244533322024-01-09T23:25:48.289-08:00Rebecca Ann LundRebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-78493329517724186632021-11-19T16:08:00.004-08:002021-11-20T02:04:43.960-08:00The Last Goodbye<p> On Sunday 20th November 2011- exactly ten years ago today- I wrote my first blog post.</p><p>I had been scrolling through whatever social media was then (I have a feeling it was Facebook but it looks so different in my memory) and saw that a university friend had started writing. She was posting every week and, despite being quite definitely filed in my mind under Facebook Friends Only, I absolutely loved reading about her life. </p><p>It was then that I discovered that you could just scroll through blogs and discover the lives of people all over the globe. (This was 2011 remember, Facebook had only just introduced having a cover photo and it would be seven years before I joined Instagram- scrolling the lives of strangers was a very new concept.) </p><p>This inspired me to start my own blog. I spent ages playing with background colours and patterns, testing out font styles, and moving the title around until I felt satisfied that it looked like a heading. The name- my own full name- took very little consideration. The friend I was copying had used her full name as the title, so I used mine. </p><p>I wrote in that first post that I was going to keep you entertained with my upcoming adventures but I wasn't sure exactly what they were going to be yet. I ended the post 'how exciting'. Reading it back, it's bursting with Christmas-Eve-style optimism, and I feel slightly envious of that person, not long out of university, starting this huge adventure. </p><p>I remember feeling so, so very nervous when I first posted it, and being over the moon when my mum liked it.</p><p>I later told somebody at a new job that I couldn't believe how well it was doing, and the next day she came in and told me she had looked it up and was disappointed with its success. </p><p>"It looks like it's just...your friends and family that like it." </p><p>It was around the same time that vlogging had just well and truly taken off. I think she had thought she was now working with Zoella, and was disappointed to find that the comments I'd mentioned I was proud of had all been written by people with the same surname as me. </p><p>Despite that, I'm incredibly proud of and grateful for it. </p><p>Around the same time that I started my blog, I wrote a letter from my 22 year old self to my 32 year old self, to be opened early next year. I wrote about my hopes and expectations for those years between 2012 and 2022, and made some predictions about where we would all be now. </p><p>I can't <i>wait </i>to read it. </p><p>I know this:</p><p>I hoped I will have worked in Disney. I could never have known how incredible it would be. </p><p>I hoped I would have a daughter called Mia. I know that 22 year old me would have been beside herself to hear I not only had Mia, but I had <i>Mia, </i>the best little person I've ever met. Until her little sister was born, when they tied for that title. </p><p>I hoped I would still be friends with the women I had nicknamed Minnie Mouse, Pumbaa and Madam Adelaide. I predicted that I would be, but I also know I would be over the moon to know we're closer than ever. That I almost had Millie in Pumbaa's garden. That Minnie parents my daughters via Whatsapp, and that my favourite part of the week is breakfast with Madam Adelaide on a Sunday. I had predicted all their futures and reading how wrong I got it might just be the thing I'm most looking forward to about this letter.</p><p>I know that I once again wrongly predicted who I would be married to, but correctly predicted that Jiminy Cricket would be married to her actual husband and would have children.</p><p> I could never have predicted that my parents would have split up, or that I'd have been to funerals of friends in their 20s, or that I would come to fully understand the famous <i>Sunscreen</i> line: 'the real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind.' </p><p>I couldn't have predicted meeting and marrying someone who loves Disney more than I do. I couldn't have predicted how much I would end up loving the children I was a Nanny for. I wrote my first ever blog post, published it, then went out for dinner to say goodbye to my family and moved to Ireland to Nanny for them the next day. Ten years ago tomorrow. I still think about them every day. </p><p>I've quite often spoken to my incredibly wise friend Simba about being caught in the trap of Waiting For Life to Start. When I started this blog, I felt like I was on the cusp of The Start of Life. I had spent a summer in France, and had loved it, and was planning on more adventures abroad. I absolutely loved every minute of living abroad, and of working as a Nanny in London during winter 2012 (for a little girl I loved more than life itself, nicknamed Millie) but it was always with it in mind that when I got back I would start my Real Life. Then we were renting. You know, just until we bought a house and our Real Life started. Then we had a baby. And went into survival mode. Just got to get her to sleep through, then Real Life will start. Then we went into lockdown. Another baby. Always waiting. </p><p>But looking back over the ten years, and reflecting on one or two things from each year that brought me joy, is the most glorious reminder that I've been living life all this time. That it's the tiny, every day, potentially easily forgotten bits that make a life wonderful, and that at the centre of that are the people.</p><p>I couldn't have predicted the little things that made these ten years what they were...</p><p>The way 3 year old Kyle pronounced 'radiator'. The marmite on toast and walk on the beach I had the day after St Patricks Day in Dublin. </p><p>The time Dumbo and I had (way) too much drink in iBar in Florida and clung onto each other laughing, unable to breathe for how funny we found this awkward American man, when he really wasn't very funny at all. </p><p>The Lion King 15th anniversary when people came to the theatre for 6am (it wasn't 6am, I can't remember what time it was, it felt like the middle of the night but was probably 9am) and they blasted The Circle of Life as they let the first people in and I had to try not to sob serving them. </p><p>The absolute joy of playing Heads Up in our pyjamas at a hen weekend. </p><p>The way a colleague kept very subtly and kindly disagreeing with me until I had a total rethink about my values. She absolutely changed me as a person and has therefore affected who my children will be, and I'm far too British to tell her. </p><p>The time Pumbaa said the wrong thing at the right time and I laughed probably the most I have ever laughed. I'm laughing about it now. </p><p>The eleven months that Dale and I lived in our first flat together. We did a lot of dancing and a lot of laughing in that home. Someone came round once and told us they didn't know how we could be so happy in such a tiny flat. I've felt sad for that person ever since. </p><p>My Dad's face at my wedding. </p><p>The time that we went out for lunch for my Grandma's 75th birthday and my cousins made me laugh so much that my Grandma was certain I'd give birth on the lovely flooring in the hotel.</p><p>The first time we took Mia to Disney World- honestly the best 2 weeks of my life. Potentially joint with the second time we took her.</p><p>The first time we sat in the house we had bought and it felt like home- about a year after we first got the keys. </p><p>The absolute surreal rollercoaster that was lockdown. The incredible memories made alongside the all consuming fear.</p><p> The time my Uncle Simon hosted the quiz after a couple of drinks and made me laugh too much to participate.</p><p>The hypnobirthing course that Dale, Mia and I all did together because we were locked down so she had to join in. </p><p>The moment Mia met Millie. </p><p>The tears when my sister in law sent me a photo of a positive pregnancy test. </p><p>The moment I met my nephew for the first time.</p><p>Almost every single thing that Mia has ever said. The way Millie smiles at herself in the mirror. </p><p>Reading my first ever blog post back today, after ten years, and realising there was a spelling mistake in it. </p><p>Today I will be saying goodbye to this blog- it lasted far longer and gave me far more than I could ever have predicted. I've changed so very much in that time, as has the world, as has my name. </p><p>Luckily for me, I will hold onto all its glorious characters and continue to make memories with them- good and bad, laughter and tears, and a whole lot of scrumptious mundanity that I will, I've no doubt, look back on with huge affection. </p><p>Maybe I'll start a new blog account. Maybe I'll finally get that book published. Maybe I'll start to sleep again. </p><p>Who knows?</p><p>In the meantime, thank you so, so much for reading; whether you've been here since 2011 or this is your first read, I really appreciate you taking the time to take an interest in my story. </p><p>Whether you have the same surname as me or not. </p><p>Here's to the next ten years. </p><p>How exciting. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-21033273366672182942021-10-19T10:25:00.001-07:002021-10-19T10:25:05.176-07:00Some Things Never Change <p>I can remember it so clearly. </p><p>I'm not totally sure what year it was- 1998 or 1999, I imagine. An age at which I was almost definitely too old to be playing what we called Mums and Dads and what my four year old daughter would now call Homes, but I was too happy to care. Playing Mums was always my favourite game. </p><p>I was playing with my baby boy doll, Charlie, and my best friend Emma was playing with her two dolls- Holly and Annabell.</p><p>Emma and I both had two brothers, and the youngest two were five years younger than us, so we used to push Charlie, Holly and Annabell around in our little brothers' big buggies, filling up their old baby bottles with water (and on one horrific occasion, milk. A fantastic lesson in Why We Keep Milk In the Fridge) and pretending to be our mums by waving car keys around in the air and saying things like "well the direct debit was a nightmare" with absolutely no idea about what we were actually saying. </p><p>Anyway. On this particular occasion, we were standing on my (gated, I should say) driveway, pretending to be doing the pre-school drop off, when Emma waved her mother's car key around in the direction of her two dolls- Annabell and Holly- and said 'well I just think it's so good for the girls'. </p><p>The second she said it, I <i>loved </i>it as a phrase. </p><p>In my house, and her house, in fact, there were The Boys, and then there was The Girl. Becca and The Boys. Emma and Her Brothers. I'd never heard the phrase 'the girls' used to refer to siblings before, and I absolutely <i>loved </i>the way it sounded. </p><p>Immediately I was sure I'd have two girls, and for the rest of my primary school years (and, if I'm honest, a lot of my secondary ones) I looked forward to it. I was going to have two girls named Talia and Mia, and I would refer to them as The Girls- or even better- My Girls- for as long as they would tolerate it. </p><p>Then I got into my twenties, I was a Nanny for two boys who I loved more than life itself, and that narrative changed. It was to be two boys- Josh and Charlie- and my lifetime of being in charge of The Boys would continue. </p><p>Then, at the ripe old age of 27 (6 years later than I had planned with Emma on my driveway in the mid nineties), I became pregnant. Naturally, I assumed it was a boy, as did absolutely everyone in my family. Until one day- and I cannot explain this- I knew it was a girl. I cannot explain the certainty, but suddenly all dreams of Josh and Charlie disappeared and were replaced once again with Talia and Mia. </p><p>We went for a scan to confirm, and told the staff I'd fall off the table in shock if they told me it was a boy. They told me afterwards that as soon as they saw that resolute look in my eye they'd known it was a girl, but that they'd done the actual scientific checking just in case. </p><p>On 10th October 2017, our Mia arrived, totally calm like her daddy (who was not, as Emma had predicted, Adam from Mrs Carter's class, but, believe it or not, someone we hadn't known when we were eight) and, like her mummy, absolutely furious at how cold it was. </p><p>Then before I knew it, it was 24th September 2020 and I was driving to work, listening to Steph McGovern's hilarious podcast Not Bad For a Monday. She was telling stories about job interviews going wrong, and told one that involved food from the interviewer's mouth landing on the interviewee's lip, and how the interviewee had to keep chatting as though they hadn't noticed. </p><p>I promptly stopped the car at a conveniently placed junction in the, fortunately, very sleepy village of Sheering, and vomited all over the passenger seat. I then spent the rest of the day counting down the minutes to when I'd be able to rush home to the patiently waiting Clear Blue pregnancy test in my bathroom cupboard.</p><p>I have no magical video to share at this point- I'm always in awe of anyone who a) thinks to film or even just take a photo of that glorious pee-covered stick, and b) anyone who then keeps it a secret and reveals it to their husband on their birthday or some similar occasion. I quickly changed into my workout clothes to go and teach a Zoom fitness class in my kitchen, ran down the stairs and past Dale who was frantically feeding Mia before they had to vacate the dining table so that I could teach, and shouted 'it's positive!' To which he replied 'here we go again!' as I logged into Zoom and taught, quite frankly, the most all over the place, scatty class in the history of fitness classes. </p><p>I told very, very few people at this point. Of course, I promised myself I wouldn't tell anyone yet and had told one friend within about 15 hours of the test. My wonderfully kind and observant colleague noticed almost immediately that I had stopped drinking coffee and asked me what was wrong. Another asked me (very kindly) why I kept being so fuzzy headed, and then we went into lockdown from when I was about 13 weeks so I could hug my secret close for far longer than I'd imagined. I felt the first kick very, very early on (in a restaurant, when Dale and Mia had gone to the toilet, the night before lockdown came back in) and so promptly told the waitress who could not have cared less. </p><p>Otherwise the announcement was quite late and, when we did tell people, with Mia wearing an 'I'm going to be a big sister' t-shirt, a disproportionate number of people misread it and said 'oh two girls, how wonderful.' </p><p>Despite this regular reaction, I had no gut feeling this time. No voice in my head. Every time I pictured the baby in my head, I had two girls. Every time we saw a scan (which was a lot as I had to have regular monitoring) it was a boy. So we didn't find out this time. I had genuinely never, ever had a preference, only ever a feeling. I had a real pull that first time Emma had said 'the girls' about her dolls, and an equally strong feeling after falling in love with the boys I looked after, and then absolute certainty when I was pregnant with Mia. But never a preference. </p><p>And, of course, it goes without saying that we now know that gender is far more complex and nuanced than we ever thought, but still, in our little world it was exciting. This little person was going to be the fourth corner to our square and we couldn't wait to get some glimpse into what role they may play. </p><p>Then one boiling hot day, in early June, I had a midwife appointment in which I uttered the words 'I just need to have this baby now. Now.' Before calling Pumbaa, who had said any time I was fed up I was welcome to go and sit in her garden. I hung up on her at 3.14pm, having agreed that we might stay for dinner. </p><p>Went for a wee. Arranged with Dale that he could walk to the shop in a little while and I'd pick him up on the way home. Put on my shoes, and Mia's shoes. Stepped out of the front door. </p><p>Hm. That was a very sudden, very strong contraction. Braxton Hicks? </p><p>Put Mia in the car. </p><p>That was three very strong contractions. </p><p>Had visions of being stuck at Pumbaa's, unable to drive home. Giving birth on her beautiful wooden floors. </p><p>Asked Dale to drive me- quite sure by now that I was in labour but already plagued by guilt that Mia had been so excited to go on Pumbaa's daughter's cool slide, and already had had such a boring day waiting for the midwife appointment. </p><p>Text Pumbaa, who quickly replied that she'd fill up the paddling pool ready to deliver the baby. Pumbaa's the nicest person in the world and would do anything for anyone, so to this day I don't know whether she was joking. </p><p>By the time we arrived at her house, my app was telling me to go to hospital. </p><p>We agreed that Dale would pop very quickly to the shop right next to Pumbaa's house, Mia could go down the slide, and then we'd go home. </p><p>The next twenty minutes are a bit of a blur in my head. Sipping the ice cold water that Pumbaa had waiting for me. Telling the children they didn't need to fight over the green watering can, there was a purple one, why didn't they take it in turns? Pumbaa making me laugh through contractions (quite a feat) telling me stories about her family. Pumbaa's husband trying to make me laugh and me trying not to be rude but not actually being able to hear anyone anymore, so strong were the contractions. </p><p>Getting in the car and breathing my way to my Happy Place as rehearsed through months of hypnobirthing practice. </p><p>Home at 5.20pm.</p><p>My mum arriving and not quite realising just how far I was into labour- singing about popping the jolly kettle on whilst Dale tried to set up the birthing pool without knocking his mother-in-law out with the hose. </p><p>My mum cottoning on to how far I was into labour when she called Labour Ward (and someone she knew answered- my mum knows <b>everyone</b>) and I was uncharacteristically sharp with her when she asked for my phone number (entirely forgetting in all the excitement that she has my number in her phone). </p><p>Dale setting up our lounge for the dreamy birth we'd worked for 6 months for. </p><p>The midwives arriving- the elation at seeing the same, wonderful midwife that had been at every single one of my appointments, including the one that afternoon. </p><p>Dragging myself up the stairs to try and be sick, and being desperately jealous when I overheard my mum and Mia discussing how yummy their yoghurt was. Not being sick until I got back downstairs, and Dale having to catch it in our baking bowl before it went into the birthing pool. Vaguely and stupidly thinking that the cookie dough smell of the baking bowl is normally my favourite, but is the actual worst in labour. </p><p>Vaguely and quite rightly thinking that although this was painful- it was labour- the breathing and candles and water and fairy-lights and Modern Family on the television was absolutely the dream, and I couldn't believe it was actually unfolding in the magical way I'd envisioned. </p><p>Very clearly thinking that midwives are the very best of humankind. </p><p>Climbing into the water. Turning off Modern Family and asking Alexa to play Colbie Caillat. </p><p>Starting to read a letter written especially for this moment for me by my friend Minnie Mouse, reading the line 'you are so incredible and you can do this' before the contractions ramped up and I watched it fall, in slow motion, to the floor. </p><p>Those lines going over and over in my head. You are so incredible and you can do this. </p><p>The midwife instructing me to hold her eye contact, and to listen to her when she tells me I can do this. </p><p>Feeling every thought disappear, even of my Happy Place, and following my instinct to push, confused about why I would be getting that feeling so early on in labour. Whispering 'ohmygoodness it's the baby's head. The baby's head is out' in disbelief. Asking what happens next. </p><p>The midwife calmly explaining that they'd known that was going to be the head and they were totally ready. That on the next contraction I was to push the baby out, that the midwife would push the baby back between my legs, and I could then pick them up out of the water and cuddle them. </p><p>The midwife calling to Dale to come down- he'd nipped upstairs to check on Mia (and, hilariously, change into his comfy shorts) - that the baby was about to be here. </p><p>That contraction coming, the relief of the baby arriving, the magic of lifting them from the water myself. </p><p>The midwives reminding me that I could now find out who that fourth corner of our square was. The first piece of the puzzle as to who they might be. Another little girl. </p><p>My mum and Mia coming straight in so that Mia could meet her sister at last. </p><p>The look on Mia's face- the best face she has ever made. </p><p>The magic of the midwives telling us that she had arrived at 7.44pm; Mia had arrived at 7.44am. </p><p>Being able to shower in my own bathroom, get into my jammies, have peanut butter on toast on my own sofa before climbing into my own bed with all four corners of our family unit. </p><p>Waking up with them next to us. </p><p>Our Girls. My Girls. The Girls. </p><p>Not Mia and Talia and but Mia and Millie. </p><p>Amelie Isabella Stark. Born calmly and happily in our precious, fairy light clad lounge, to the sound of Colbie Caillat and the scent of a Lily Flame Blush candle, on a warm evening in June, less than three hours after I'd been sitting in Pumbaa's garden sipping ice cold water and laughing at her stories. </p><p>What a start, Millie. </p><p>Now every now and then I have a little moment where I'll say something like 'my mum's having the girls whilst I pop to the bank' and I feel like it's 1998 again, and I'm on the driveway with Emma, my brother's old buggy, and saying grown up things I've overheard other people say. </p><p>It always has been my favourite game. </p>Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-48730680009632128622020-03-23T15:35:00.000-07:002020-03-23T15:41:55.765-07:00Edgar Charles George LundOn Wednesday 1st January 2020, my Grandad Ed died, aged ninety-five years old.<br />
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What an absolute hero.<br />
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He made it all the way from 1924 to 2020, and he did so with determination, wisdom, and a fantastic sense of humour to the very end.<br />
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We've been talking about him a lot recently- because I imagine we always will, of course- but also because a) he was exceptionally wise and would have had something very sensible to say about the planet right now and b) he flipping loved a jigsaw, and they seem to have become a bigger feature in my world in the past week or so.<br />
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One of my favourite stories about him is the one about the time he tore the house apart looking for the missing piece of his puzzle, only for one of his neighbours to pop in for a cup of tea a few days later and confess to taking it as a joke.<br />
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At his funeral, the most amazing woman spoke beautifully about his life, and told a couple of stories I hadn't heard before. Since then, I've also spoken to my cousins and brothers and parents, and asked them to share their favourite stories in an attempt to get them all together on one page, and paint a picture of this wonderful man...<br />
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1) One of my favourite ever conversations with him went like this...<br />
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"Your brother seems very happy with his girlfriend. Everyone's being very vague about how they met though. Can you tell me once and for all. How <i>did </i>they meet?"<br />
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"Well," I began, wondering where exactly to begin with explaining Tinder to a ninety-one year old, "on the internet."<br />
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I stopped there, thinking that would do for today's lesson.<br />
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"Right," he replied, seeming to take it all in. "You must have some real issues if you've got to turn to the internet to find a girl, haven't you?"<br />
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He then continued to ask me this question every single time I saw him for the next few months. He didn't have a memory loss issue. He was just delighted with that punchline.<br />
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2) Absolutely everyone that I asked for stories from commented on his little sayings. He always called us 'duck' (until I was about 14 I thought my nickname was dup- never even occurred to me to question it), called my brothers 'urchins' (and my brother found out <i>today </i>that he was calling him an urchin and not an urchant, which is not a thing) and he <i>always </i>followed up goodbye with 'don't do anything I wouldn't do, and if you do, don't get caught.' And a very cheeky smile.<br />
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3) The first time he met my brother's (twenty year old) girlfriend, he told her 'you're lovely- if only I were ten years younger'. It really made her laugh and relaxed her with a new family. And speaking of meeting relatives...<br />
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4) My Nanny Eileen- Grandad Ed's wife- always used to tell the story of the first time she met his grandmother. She said 'I'm sure I won't meet you again.'<br />
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Firstly- <i>can you imagine </i>saying that to someone?! Secondly, my grandparents were then married for 58 years. What a brilliant way to prove her wrong.<br />
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5) My Grandad's favourite story to tell was about the day of his first date with Nanny Eileen. She was late. She was so very late, that he was about to leave. He vowed that he'd wait for one more bus, and then he'd go. I worked out recently that there are no less than twenty-five people who would never have been born had she not been on that bus. Magical.<br />
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6) My memory is that we always had the most incredible food at Nanny and Grandad's house. There were <i>always </i>cakes and biscuits, we always had the best breakfast there if we had a sleepover, and in my mind 9 out of 10 visits involved a prawn cocktail (but the 9 year old in me is probably exaggerating that). My cousins, who are older and wiser, assure me that Grandad's barbecued sausages were always burnt but everybody ate them anyway. Another cousin pointed out that the biscuit tin was always full but you <i>never </i>saw a packet of biscuits, let alone anyone hastily refilling the tin.<br />
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7) My eldest cousin, who was always the most sensible of her siblings (as we eldest children naturally are), told me of memories of playing wheelbarrow races in the garden but never, ever going near the flowers. Her younger sisters told me stories of moving all his garden gnomes and then being told off for being little minxes. This was a <i>revelation </i>to me because 1) I never, <i>ever </i>saw him remotely cross. Not even once, and 2) Despite never seeing him cross, I would never have <i>dreamed </i>of playing up for him. I did once whisper to my little brother to ask if we could have a sweet (they had sweets in little dishes <i>everywhere) </i>and my Nanny told me in a clipped, Mary-Poppins style voice that I should ask for myself in future. That was as scary as they ever got.<br />
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8) He <i>loved </i>his shed. He built sledges, rabbit hutches, rocking horses, wendy houses, beds, shelving units...you name it, he made it in that shed. It was his haven, and another place that one of his cheeky granddaughters liked to go. Forbidden territory.<br />
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9) He didn't talk about the war really, unless you asked very specific questions- then he talked sadly about friends he lost. I once asked him what on earth he did when the war was over. 'Got very, very drunk', he replied, to my absolute delight.<br />
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10) My Grandad had the most incredible relationship with his children. I was struck recently by just how special his relationship with my auntie's husband was- the level of love that my uncle showed for someone he is related to by marriage. When I voiced this to my Grandma- from the other side of my family- she told me she always remembers being struck by how close they were the first time she saw them together in the eighties, when my Grandad told my uncle, with a laugh in his voice, to f*** off. Takes a real level of closeness to speak to your son in law like that. Funny show of love, but definitely a show of love, nonetheless.<br />
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11) I had the one and only sensible conversation about Brexit and Trump, post-votes, that I ever had, with my Grandad Ed. I won't share what was said, but what he said was calm, considered, and wise, and it shed some light onto opinions I had been unable to understand. It was also magical to see the lightbulb go on his mind when I explained my thoughts.<br />
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12) Mia and I once had the most wonderful morning with him at his house when she was a few months old. He watched Mia in absolute awe which- for someone who's had three kids and around five million grandchildren- was really special. He told me that he was always at work when his wife and children were at home during the day, and that it was lovely to see it from this side- to see what happened whilst he was at work.<br />
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13) He and my Nanny always waved everyone off at the door with their arms around each other, until we were completely out of sight. Even after 58 years of marriage. It always stayed with me as one of the most romantic things ever to happen. After my Nanny's funeral, someone said to my Grandad 'he really got the essence of Eileen, didn't he? The speaker?' And Grandad replied 'I had the essence of her.' Probably the most romantic and most heartbreaking words ever uttered.<br />
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So to our wonderful Edgar Charles George Lund. We are all so very aware of how lucky we are to have had you in our lives, and I, along with the many, many people you had a magical impact on, will continue to live on with your wise words in our heads, and your cheeky smile in our souls.<br />
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I won't do anything you wouldn't do, I promise.<br />
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And if I do, I won't get caught :)<br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-72760592199747094042019-05-31T10:49:00.003-07:002019-05-31T10:49:53.892-07:00The Big Three OhYesterday was my 30th birthday.<br />
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Having got myself into such a pickle about turning 20, I was determined to just be excited about The Big Three Oh, and I am.<br />
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I just can't believe it.<br />
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Shouldn't I have sorted out my eyebrows by now? Shouldn't I have worked out how to keep a clean house, and how to see my friends enough, and have read The Catcher in the Rye and How to Kill a Mockingbird? (It's actually a great source of shame that I haven't read them, but I always think 'I will just after this Clare Mackintosh one...')<br />
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I did have a little wobble when a photo popped up on my Facebook memories a few days ago of a birthday cake with the number 20 on it. It suddenly hit me that it's <i>ten years </i>since I turned 20. I'm <i>ten years older </i>than a twenty year old. Then this morning my friend sent me photos of my 20th birthday celebrations. The main thing we've learned from them is her husband looked <i>young </i>when he was 20.<br />
<br />
I had another little wobble when everyone was singing happy birthday to me yesterday.<br />
<br />
Not a wobble, as such. Just another thwack of realisation. And actually, a lot of gratitude.<br />
<br />
My family had organised the <i>most incredible cake </i>(courtesy of Dinkylicious Cakes- the extraordinarily talented Debbie Roe who made one of our wedding cakes and blows us away at every special occasion) and had gone to such lengths to keep it a surprise that I believe my Mum was dangerously close to having a hernia. My brother's girlfriend (a true source of joy for the whole family) was holding my giggling daughter; my mum had her Proud Face on and her camera out; my husband was grinning whilst he sang- having faffed about worrying about how many candles to use. My Dad sang enthusiastically- relieved, I imagine, that the Secret Cake had finally been revealed, and my mum's husband turned the lights off too early so we were all milling around in the dark making silly noises. The cake was chocolate all the way through, with Reese's peanut butter cups around the edge and white chocolate flowers on top- I mean, just the perfect cake for me. I was so impressed that they knew what my perfect cake would be.<br />
<br />
(Although Mowgli, I've just realised, insisted he thought that Reese's peanut butter cups were Dale's favourites- not mine. So he has clearly never read my blog before ha.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, it was just about perfect, and I thought, yep. This is me at 30. And that is absolutely fine.<br />
<br />
I spent the day with my friends yesterday, and found myself using the phrase 'if there's one thing I've learned in my twenties...' and hearing myself say that inspired me to write (a very basic, I'm no Dolly Alderton) list of things I know now that I've made it through my third decade...<br />
<br />
1) <b>Instinct is underrated. </b>You can read all the books, write all the lists, and tick all the boxes until you're blue in the face. Ultimately, whatever your instinct is telling you to do is most likely the correct decision. I was once offered a job as a Nanny that was perfect on paper- everything I had been looking for. I spoke to the mother on the phone for about 10 minutes and knew that it wasn't for me. Something about the way she described her child unnerved me. All the other Nanny jobs I've ever had I have absolutely loved, and I will hold those families in my heart forever more. All of those parents had said 'here's the thing about (insert child's name here), she's funny and she's kind and you'll have so much fun, but we need someone who's willing to be patient with her being a nightmare with food/hating the bath/kicking off about homework etc. This mother told me that her child was perfect. Genuinely used that word. I ended up covering for them just for a weekend whilst they sorted alternative childcare out. I'll just leave it that it was the right decision to turn it down.<br />
<br />
I've since applied this lesson to everything from which wedding dress to buy to how to parent and who to hire, and I continue to trust it implicitly.<br />
<br />
2) <b>Removing your make up and drinking enough water are the best things you can make sure you do every day. </b>Such a pain but between them they are more or less the answer to everything.<br />
<br />
3) <b>Flossing is your friend. </b>Fillings are flipping awful.<br />
<br />
4) <b>You never know what's going to happen next. </b>And I don't mean that none of us predicted Madonna going over during her Brit Awards performance. Or even Brexit or Trump. Or Lord Sugar throwing caution to the wind and hiring 2 winners of The Apprentice in 2017.<br />
<br />
When I was 26 I saw a medium who said that she didn't think anyone would come through for me because I was so young. Everyone that came through was for me.<br />
<br />
I had to say a premature goodbye to a lot of people in my twenties, and a lot of unexpected things went down. I don't suppose it should have taken that happening for me to realise just how short and cruel life can be, but we're all better at understanding these things once they've happened to us. We <i>never </i>know what is about to happen and should be grateful for every single day. Easier said than done, I know.<br />
<br />
5) <b>I should always keep my hair one length. </b>Hairdressers always want to add layers and feathers and all sorts, and I've finally learnt to stick to my guns and say <i>no thank you. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Yesterday I was tagged in a <i>lot </i>of old photos. I asked Dale how one person has possibly had so many truly awful hair cuts. He immediately replied 'oh dear, fringe gate?' Actually, no. Nobody had tagged me in any fringe photos. Thanks for bringing it up though, honey.<br />
<br />
6) <b>An excellent trick for dealing with difficult people is to pause time. </b>My youngest brother and I have often commented on how well and truly sheltered we were growing up in a small village in rural Essex until we were 18. We so rarely had to deal with difficult people before we were in our 20s, which means that this time has been a true learning curve. My wonderfully wise friend Jiminy Cricket once told me to take a deep breath, and imagine I had just paused time to punch them and then turned time back on, and they were none the wiser. I cannot tell you how many difficult conversations this has got me through. This, and remembering to....<br />
<br />
7) <b>Always, always, always be kind. </b>There's actually a lot of satisfaction to be gained in being kind to people who aren't always kind to you. And, although it's always something I'm working on, it's satisfying for me to know that I'm always trying my best. I have every faith that if ever anyone is less than kind to me, there's a reason behind it that has nothing to do with me at all. On many occasions I've later found out what that reason was and been relieved to know that I dealt with it the way I did.<br />
<br />
8) <b>Say no. </b>It doesn't have to be a big, scary NO. Just a gentle <i>no thank you </i>is absolutely fine. We all have too much going on to be wasting our time on things that make us miserable. I heard a wonderful podcast with Sarah Millican in which she changed her voice from NO to <i>no thank you </i>and the power of it has stayed with me.<br />
<br />
9) <b>It's okay to disagree. </b>Again, this one is a work in progress for me. I have always had an awful habit of agreeing with people for the sake of saving an argument. Sometimes I walk away from a conversation absolutely furious with myself for saying something I don't believe in. It's like somebody else takes over my mouth for a few minutes, whilst I hover above my body, horrified at what's being said. I'm gradually learning that it's important to disagree with people- that's how you change opinions, or have your opinion changed. If disagreeing with someone is going to affect your relationship with someone, they probably weren't worth having around in the first place.<br />
<br />
10) <b>There's no such thing as good and bad people. </b>Absolutely everyone is a mix of both, and things aren't always as straight forward as they seem. I had this epiphany listening to the song <i>I Didn't Plan It, </i>from Waitress, and I highly recommend listening to it and the rest of the soundtrack. And going to see it. And taking all your friends and family to see it.<br />
<br />
People do things for different reasons, and judgement isn't always (or ever) helpful. My brother recently said to me that being with his ever patient and exceptionally accepting girlfriend has made him realise how 'opinionated' we are. I think by opinionated he meant judgemental. But that's another thing I'm very much working on. It turns out that things aren't always black and white, we don't always have all the facts, and the world doesn't revolve around us.<br />
<br />
11) <b>Wipe down the large surfaces. </b>Don't worry about anything else.<br />
<br />
I recently casually commented to Pumbaa's mum that we've got potential viewers looking at the flat at the moment, so I've also got to keep it immaculate at all times. I'd said that to loads of people, but she was the first person not to nod her head and say 'oh, what a pain.' She immediately shook her head and said 'nope, absolutely not. What that means is you've got to wipe down the large surfaces. That's all. Don't worry about anything else.'<br />
<br />
Guess what?<br />
<br />
I took her advice, and it still sold.<br />
<br />
12) <b>It's the little things that count. </b>A friend and I were chatting recently about the pressure of trying your best at everything, of spending every second wisely, of doing everything you can. I realised that the happiest bit of my week is curling up with Dale and Squirt on a Saturday morning and watching an episode of Designated Survivor. It's the only hour of the week that I'm not achieving anything, and it's my favourite. My favourite part of the day is normally someone making me laugh. Good customer service brings me a lot of joy. There's very little a cup of coffee can't fix. Chats with my Grandma and memes from Jiminy Cricket tend to warm my heart. A phone call from my Mum. Absolutely anything that any of my cousins say. All Squirt's little facial expressions. Dale's singing. Pumbaa's 2 year old singing A Million Dreams at the top of his passionate voice. They're what matter.<br />
<br />
So, my thirties have begun, and I have spent the first day of them in my jogging bottoms, writing, and watching Aladdin.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, my three wishes for my thirties are to remain happy and healthy (yes, that counts as one), to learn to worry less about what other people think (I'm told that comes by the time you're 40?) and to learn to be on time every now and then.<br />
<br />
But for the minute, this is me at 30. And that is absolutely fine.<br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-59302761064233690962018-08-01T15:12:00.003-07:002018-08-01T15:12:59.178-07:00Mamma Mia! Here I go again...."Oh gosh no, I'm not dreading turning 30 at all. I'm looking forward to it, if anything. I got myself in<i> such</i> a state about turning 20, I am<i> not</i> doing that with turning 30. No I'm not. No way. My twenties were amazing, as will my thirties be.'<br />
<br />
Oh for the heady days of being aged twenty-nine years and one week old.<br />
<br />
Now, of course, I'm twenty-nine years and two months old, and so am having an absolute meltdown about my next birthday.<br />
<br />
No I'm exaggerating.<br />
<br />
But as time goes on that little voice is starting to creep into my ear.<br />
<br />
It's the same voice that tends to make an appearance around New Year's Eve.<i> Did you do enough this year? Have you got good enough plans for next year? And are they</i> actually<i> achievable? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Now what the sensible voice from age twenty-nine and one week said was this:<br />
<br />
1) My twenties have been incredible. They have been everything I wanted and more. There were plenty of times I thought (and was told) that there was no way I could do all the jobs abroad that I wanted to do<i> and</i> end up in a good job at home at the end of it. The fact that I managed to do it- and that I ticked off every country and every job including<i> </i>one in <i>Disney World-</i> is nothing short of absolutely amazing. I am proud and grateful, and changed. I have learnt so, so much in my twenties and can't wait to see what fun and life lessons lie in wait for my thirties.<br />
<br />
2) I am incredibly lucky to have made it to twenty-nine years and two months old. There are so many who aren't reaching this milestone with me, or who perhaps had but won't see their next decade, whatever that may have been. If nothing else, my twenties have taught me the difficult lesson of life's fragility, and I should be (and trust me, am) grateful for every single day that I wake up healthy and happy.<br />
<br />
However. In the seven weeks that have passed since that sensible voice, several things have happened.<br />
<br />
1) I've realised I'm turning<i> thirty. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm not<i> kidding.</i> Or pretending. Or playing grown ups.<br />
<br />
I really am going to be thirty. That proper grown up age.<br />
<br />
The age that my mum was when she moved her husband and three children into the comfy house that I grew up in. The decade that my mum was in when I<i> finished my A levels and went to university. </i><br />
<br />
I recently started a new job, and as it's part time and involves working with lots of younger colleagues, I had naturally assumed that everyone would think I was also their age.<br />
<br />
<i>How funny.</i> I thought.<i> Nobody here would ever know I'd had a baby. They probably all think I'm seventeen or eighteen like the others. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The very first person I met (who, I should mention, was seven years old) genuinely asked me<i> Rebecca are you</i> well<i> into your thirties or just a bit? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Since then I've been asked many, many similar questions, with one child outright asking me<i> so were you born in 1989?</i> (For those of you less confident in maths, yes I was, and yes, it's hilarious and scary in equal measures that a nine year old knew that by looking at my face.)<br />
<br />
After one such comment, I came home and looked in the mirror and was shocked to find a twenty-nine year old looking back. How and when that happened I do not know.<br />
<br />
2) I've realised that the real grown ups that I know are<i> the same age as me. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I always assume that the other mums at baby groups who have husbands and houses and baby bags and nice eyebrows and look like they've got their lives together aren't<i> pretending</i> at being grown ups like me, they are actual grown ups.<br />
<br />
Then I'll get talking to them and they'll casually mention that they turned thirty earlier this year, or are looking forward to it next year. Or they'll add me on Instagram and be michellejohnson92 and I'll realise they're<i> younger</i> than me.<br />
<br />
But that's because I really am their age. And I have a husband and a home and a baby bag (I'm foregoing the nice eyebrows at the moment but perhaps they will miraculously sort themselves out before the big day) and probably look, from the outside, a bit grown up too.<br />
<br />
3) I watched Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again.<br />
<br />
This really was the turning point, to be honest.<br />
<br />
If you haven't seen it yet I must warn you that it is very much about the passing of time so I'd take your tissues and allow ten minutes at the end for quiet sobbing.<br />
<br />
According to the film release dates, I'm almost exactly the same age as Sophie- the main character.<br />
<br />
She was twenty when the first film came out, and so would be thirty now (in the film they implied she's only twenty five but, whatever, Amanda Seyfried who plays her has aged ten years which is sort of my point) and when she first appeared on the screen I felt a huge rush of realisation about just<i> how much you change in your twenties. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Not only did she look ten years older (and a lot better, which I think is the general rule no matter what mainstream media will have you believe), it struck me that the excitable, squealy ball of energy from the first film had been replaced with a strong, considered and able woman in the second, and I couldn't help feeling (and hoping) that watching myself back in 2008 and then now would have the same effect.<br />
<br />
And<i> that's</i> when I started to feel overwhelmed by the whole thing.<br />
<br />
Then the film only went on and on<i> and on</i> about time passing and things changing (just to be clear I absolutely loved the film, it just made me an emotional wreck) and by the end of it I had reverted more or less to the sentimental mess I was about turning 20.<br />
<br />
Since then I've thought a lot about how I've changed in my twenties, and about what they've held for me, and I had a moment today sitting with two friends that I met when I was sixteen, and the five children that we have between us, just unable to believe that we have known each other that long. That we have lived so much of our lives together.<br />
<br />
Where does the time go?<br />
<br />
The other day I brought this up with my ninety-three year old Grandad. <br />
<i><br /></i>
If I feel like time is flashing by and I can't believe my age, how on<i> earth</i> must he feel?<br />
<br />
<i>You just can't explain it duck. I don't have the answers I'm afraid. I don't know where that time's gone. I can</i>'<i>t believe it, really. </i><br />
<br />
Me neither. <br />
<br />
And for as long as I can remember I've been told to<i> enjoy every moment.</i> To<i> make the most of it, because it won't always be like this. It won't be this fun in secondary school. At college. At university. In the real world. Once you have kids. Once your babies are older. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And I'm not complaining about that advice. I actually think that advice has made me good at it- good at enjoying every second and not taking anything for granted.<br />
<br />
But on the other hand, at milestones like this- that make me overthink the passing of time and want to slow it down- that advice can be overwhelming, because there is<i> nothing I can do.</i> Time passes. And no amount of gratitude or wisdom can change that. If it could be done, I have every faith that my Grandad would have discovered how at some point in the past ninety-three and a half years.<br />
<br />
When I was obsessed with turning twenty, I listened to the song<i> Stop This Train</i> by John Mayer on repeat for the entire year- a song about exactly this moment.<br />
<br />
And I would replay the same lines in my mind over and over:<br />
<br />
<i>Had a talk with my old man</i><br />
<i>Said help me understand</i><br />
<i>He said turn sixty-eight</i><br />
<i>You renegotiate </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Don't stop this train. </i><br />
<i>Don't for a minute change the place you're in</i><br />
<i>Don't think I couldn't ever understand</i><br />
<i>I tried my hand</i><br />
<i>Honestly. We'll never stop this train. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But of course, it's never about the age anyway. It's not about the number. 18, 40, 92, New Year's Eve. It's not about how many years have passed since the day you were born, it's about the reminder that time is passing. That things won't always be like they are right now, and that some things that have happened will never happen again.<br />
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That it's moving all the time and there's nothing we can do about it.<br />
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So as far as I can see the answer seems to be to embrace it. <br />
<br />
Continue to enjoy every moment- to find joy in the little things, to make the most of every day. And by make the most of every day I don't mean jump out of planes or go scuba diving (not<i> every</i> day, anyway). I mean- read and write. Savour that first sip of coffee. Enjoy the way Dale wakes up with more enthusiasm than your average Labrador. Take note of the way Squirt looks carefully at which piece of food she's going to pick up in her little pincers and chooses it with relish. Laugh at my cousins or grandparents or the kids I work with until my sides hurt.<br />
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Appreciate everything my twenties brought me, and appreciate the person that it's made me.<br />
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And look forward to all of the adventures and life lessons to come.<br />
<i></i><i></i><br />
Without, for a minute, wanting to change the place I'm in.<br />
<br />
(Except perhaps in the cinema watching Mamma Mia 2. I don't think I can put myself through that again.)<br />
<i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i>Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-26671279172239648132018-05-01T18:02:00.002-07:002018-05-02T00:42:58.767-07:00Brighter than the Sun<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It has been ten months and five days since I got married.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Somehow I have let that time go by without writing about the wedding. I wrote a post about the night before the night before my wedding, promising that it would be the only post I'd ever write about it. I was wary of being boring, of parading my wedding in front of everyone's faces as though they should care.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Since then, though, a couple of things have happened. Firstly- I had a truly lovely reaction to the one post I did write about the upcoming wedding, and a few readers did comment that they hoped I would write at least one post about the day. Secondly- I realised that I<i> love</i> reading about, hearing about, and seeing pictures of other people's weddings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So here's your warning: this post is for a very specific type of person; one who enjoys hearing about other people's weddings. If that sounds boring to you, this post is not for you. Please return to scrolling and tagging (and let me know if you have any ideas about what I can write that will interest you! Always open to suggestions.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, I realised that since becoming a mum I have lost my ability to remember things. (I had a total freak out a few weeks ago about a<i> family member's</i> name. It just didn't look right on the card and I was terrified I'd send it and they'd wonder why on earth I'd got their name wrong. Mortifying.) So I thought that if it turns out I'm the only person who likes reading about weddings then at least I'll enjoy reading it back in the future, and hopefully it'll help me preserve some of the finer details that may eventually escape me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dale and I got married on Monday 26th June 2017. (I'm hoping he'll read this and perhaps use it as a reference for our anniversary. He's asked me at least three times if I have any idea why he's got the date booked off work this year.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>The Venue</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b>
We were set on having a small, laidback, fun wedding that people didn't need to stress about and that really had very little feeling of<i> formal</i> about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm not the greatest with formal occasions, I'm not in any way fancy, I don't love a high heel and don't get me<i> started</i> on those teeny posh portions of food. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Plus Dale<i> hates</i> a fascinator. He honestly feels passionately about very little, and I can only recall seeing him truly angry twice in our five years together. But mention a fascinator and smoke starts pumping out of his ears and his eyes roll back in his head. Seriously.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I explained to people that we were looking for a highly relaxed, easy going day without anything too fancy quite a few mentioned that we should have a look at West Street Vineyard in Coggeshall.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What.A.Find.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We saw it, we loved it, and I wish I could say we booked it here because that would flow beautifully. We didn't. It all seemed a bit too easy and we wondered whether we just loved it because it was the first one we'd seen. (Something I did when we were first looking at flats together and naming our baby. Fortunately Dale was there to rein me in. I more or less wailed 'Oh look, her name's Alex!' as the umbilical cord was cut. An Alex she is not.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So we viewed a more posh place just to put our minds at ease. (And by we, I mean me and my friend Dumbo went and reported back to Dale.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was lovely, truly. And I do totally understand people having grand weddings in fancy pants places. We were shown around by the most immaculate human being I have ever met. Her name was Juliet. She spoke in hushed tones as she showed us the honeymoon suite, and in a suitably romantic voice the rest of the way around. Pressed skirt suit. Blonde hair in a perfect knot at the nape of her neck. Perfectly applied lipstick that didn't budge as she sipped her tea. I was ready to book it just so that I could say that she planned my wedding. I know it would have been perfect if she had.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But there was<i> no</i> flexibility.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There were three packages. You chose one. Juliet put it on for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Whereas the dream at West Street was that they're<i> not a wedding venue.</i> They're a vineyard. And they happen to hold weddings. There are no packages, no pre-set plans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Whatever you want.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My little dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Morning of the Big Day </span></u></b><br />
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On the morning of the wedding I woke up at 7am, feeling like I'd had seventeen coffees and a couple of gins, and cleaned the entire flat. No idea why. It wasn't on any of the itineraries that I'd printed and stuck up in every room. It's what I do when I'm jittery, I suppose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mum had stayed the night before and my friends arrived at 10am. (They threw confetti over me and shouted congratulations as I opened the door. Sounds like a little thing but it was so magical.) Much to my delight the sun was out with its fascinator already sparkling on its bright little head, so we all walked over to Bill's where we sat outside for breakfast (that's my favourite restaurant, not one of the characters in my life), and they gave us a courtesy bottle of prosecco to say congratulations. (Again, a little thing. But those little sprinkles of magic really do make a difference.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <b><u>The Look </u></b></span><br />
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I had my makeup done by Carla from TeamGlam. She had done my makeup when I was a bridesmaid for Minnie Mouse and I knew I could have absolute faith that if I woke up looking tired/having a bad skin day/had chicken pox she would make me look the absolute best I possibly could. She's nothing short of a miracle worker<i> and</i> she's <i>just so nice</i>. (At one point she was on her hands and knees under my dress doing my shoes up. I'm fairly sure that's not in her job description. She's just amazing. I vaguely recall her painting my mum's nails as well. I may have made that bit up.)</span><br />
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<i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><b></b><u></u><b></b><u></u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My hairdresser Jade at Rush in Chelmsford did my hair and my mum's (she did a super job as always), and my nails were done by Nail Envy Radlett (who also always does a super job and never charges me enough.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We had Emma from In A Flash photography take our beautiful photos. Emma also kept a couple of participants in our wedding who shall not be named in check and for that I shall forever be grateful. She was a real voice for me (I'm a people pleaser and would have let all sorts happen but she was wonderful and made sure everything went my way)- what a star.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The details of my dress shall forever remain a secret but the style inspiration came from my wonderful day on<i> Say Yes to the Dress.</i> Highly recommend applying to go on it if you're looking for your wedding dress. Absolutely brilliant. (And sure, watch my episode. I've watched it now, I'm not embarrassed. My Essex accent is ever so slightly stronger than I had realised but otherwise it's quite a good watch.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On my feet I wore flat sandals from Accessorize. They were a little dream. I like to think that if I was Beyoncé I'd still have worn those shoes. No chance of falling up the aisle (or during the conga) and I managed to keep them on all night.</span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Wedding Party</span></u></b><br />
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We had such a small wedding that every single guest was a member of the wedding party. We chose to have no top table, no best man, no adult bridesmaids, no evening guests. There were fifty five of us altogether. Dale's five year old niece was a bridesmaid, and his nephews, aged seven and two, were the ring bearers. My brother Mowgli was an usher, Chip did a reading with Dale's sister, and my Dad and Uncle did speeches. Our mums were our witnesses.</span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Theme</span></u></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our theme was Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. Having met in the UK pavilion at Epcot in Walt Disney World we wanted it to be British and Disney themed, so we decided to go for a mash up of the two stories. It was (of course) sophisticated, subtle Disney- I think sometimes when I say we had a Disney themed wedding people immediately picture a nightmare from<i> Don't Tell The Bride.</i> It wasn't. It was beautiful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We were lucky enough to have the<i> most incredible</i> florist, Adele Hudgell, who just could not do enough for us and somehow, despite my distinct lack of knowledge about flowers and truly poor attempts at describing what I wanted, she had exactly the same vision of elegant, understated Disney, and she did the most amazing job. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Apart from being an incredible florist, Adele is the actual and literal definition of loveliness. So much so, in fact, that when another friend was telling me about her wedding and said 'our florist is the nicest person I've ever met'- that's all she said, nothing about location, name, experience, nothing- I said 'no way have you got Adele?') </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We did a lot of themed stuff ourselves (sweetie bag favours, table plan display, themed items to go on tables) but were lucky enough to bag<i> two</i> wonderful cake makers to make more of my imagination become reality. Sarah Underwood (who is also my best pal) did our Peter Pan cake, and Debbie at Dinkylicious Cakes made our Alice one. They were both<i> delicious</i> (we had our official honeymoon before the wedding so the majority of our post-wedding honeymoon was spent eating cake) and looked amazing. </span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Big Moment </span></u></b><br />
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Having spent the entire journey from Chelmsford to Coggeshall taking selfies with my Dad and just unable to believe that the bride smiling back was me, we drove up and down the road<i> quite a few times</i> because, according to the venue<i> our guests were not behaving</i> (I never got to the bottom of what that meant but I<i> did</i> see two pals running up the road toward the vineyard on our third round trip so my guess is that what they meant by that is<i> they're not all here.)</i></span><br />
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I had my<i> getting out of the car</i> photos and was ushered inside the restaurant and upstairs to confirm that I was definitely up for being Mrs Stark and that I really was 28 (took quite a lot of joy from the fact that the registrar just couldn't believe I was so old).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I feel quite choked up thinking about the next bit. Which is ridiculous because at the time I wasn't choked up at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">My Dad and I practised walking around the room a bit (still convinced I was going to fall over) then the venue manager came in and told me it was time to go. </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I should say here that there were so many maybes about this day. In my determination not to get caught up in the details that couldn't be controlled I had barely even dared to imagine everything going as it should. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had really, really wanted our friend Gloria to sing as I walked down the aisle. She is<i> easily</i> the most talented singer I've ever met in real life and the thought of having someone as incredible as that<i> at my wedding</i> just seemed too good to be true. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But Dale asked. She said yes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then we had such a nightmare getting the correct equipment, getting the equipment insured...oh I can't even remember what else it was about now. I'm sure at some point they needed proof that my mum's dog was born in 2008 otherwise Gloria wasn't going to be allowed to sing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We didn't know whether the ring bearers (Dale's nephews) would walk down the aisle or whether it would end up just being his niece. We didn't know whether we would be able to get married outside or if the weather would prevent us. We hadn't known until very last minute whether my dress would still fit me. We didn't know that my strict instructions for how to lay everything out would be clear enough, or even possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then in this moment, as I rounded the corner, I felt like time stopped for a moment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The sun was shining and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. In front of me were all our guests, and in front of them, was Gloria. Singing. She had this flower crown on her head and this gorgeous jumpsuit and she was singing the song I had picked out to walk down the aisle to the moment I had realised I would marry Dale one day. I was wearing my dress, and Dale was here looking all handsome in his suit, and his sister's three children were walking in front of me and I just felt the most incredible happiness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will never be able to believe how lucky we were to have all those uncontrollable things fall into place. It was probably the best moment of my life so far and definitely the best moment of the day. </span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Food </span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To fit in with our British and Informal theme we skipped the starters and had sausage and mash for mains with sticky toffee pudding for dessert. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was mainly just convenient that my favourite meal is British and Informal. Just like me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the ceremony we had provided party bags with sweets and crisps in (as well as Alice style giant playing cards with photo suggestions on them and little fans and bubbles- which were such a hit, highly recommend fans if you're getting married on a potentially hot day), and then later in the evening we had sweet potato fries and cake. So much super food. </span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Entertainment</span></u></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I mentioned above, Gloria sang during the ceremony. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I walked down the aisle to<i> I Choose You</i> by Sara Bareilles, we signed the register to<i> Brighter than the Sun</i> and<i> Falling For You</i> by Colbie Caillat, and we walked back up the aisle together to<i> Dreams Come True</i> by Hall and Oates. All sung<i> beautifully</i> by Gloria. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My brother and Dale's sister read a shorter, more wedding friendly version of<i> Oh the Places You'll Go</i> by Dr Seuss which is my absolute, number one favourite book ever, and just so fitting for every single adventure you'll ever go on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the reception drinks we had Dave Lucas from Drop Dead Caricatures wandering round drawing people (he was<i> spot on</i> with all of them. Even managed to get the cheekiness in my Grandad's eyes) and giant garden games from gardengameshireuk.com dotted about for people to play. Again,<i> thank you sunshine,</i> I'd have been devastated if we couldn't have used those. They were such a hit as well- I'd highly recommend them. I felt that I was taking a bit of a chance on those but a couple of people wrote in our guest book that they were the highlight of the day. We also had a photo booth set up (just a basket of mainly Peter and Alice themed clothing items and a big frame) which resulted in so much fun and lots of fab photos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>My</i> entertainment highlight though was the secret singing waiters. I would<i> love</i> to tell you exactly what they did and how they did it but I won't talk about it at all because I'd hate to say anything that would mean you'd spot them if you were ever a guest at one of their events. All I'll say is that we hired Silver Service Singers, they were a big hit with every single guest from two year old Quinn to 92 year old Grandad Ed, and that it was worth booking them and keeping the secret just to see the look on my dad's face when he realised what was going on. Another life highlight there, I think. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They then stayed to do the first hour of music. (First dance: Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon because that's what was playing when I first knew I'd marry Dale. Plus it's just a great song.) After that first hour we just put our own playlist on which was perfect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The party was downstairs in the basement of the vineyard which had been decorated with a light up dance floor, fairy lights in jars everywhere and big balloons dotted about; but the upstairs was still open with comfy chairs, and the balcony was strung with fairy lights too so a lot of our guests ended up sitting outside under blankets with big cups of tea, whilst others were downstairs dancing to Mr Brightside and other hits. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was planning on doing another section here called 'magical moments'- there are just so many throughout the day that you don't plan and desperately don't want to forget. Two year old Quinn interrupting the 'I do' moment to give his uncle a packet of biscuits. My friend Minnie Mouse jumping out of her skin when the singing waiter started singing right behind her. My friend Simba just being such a hit in his kilt and his huge smile that people are still mentioning it now. My brother's girlfriend singing Let It Go into the microphone. The speeches. The moment that Dale and I just stopped and watched, and saw Mary-who-used-to-be-my-manager-in-education laughing and cheering Simba-who-I-worked-with-at-The-Lion-King to beat Julia-from-work at giant snakes and ladders. It was just everything I had wanted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But I imagine you've finished your cup of tea by now and probably need to crack on so I'll keep the rest of those magical extras to myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But honestly, the best thing about that day- besides the obvious (that I married the best human on the planet)- was having all those people that I love so much all together, at once, smiling<i> for a whole day. </i></span><br />
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<i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-23721385645763534592018-01-21T15:34:00.005-08:002018-01-21T15:34:47.614-08:00Cool to Be KindThe other day I accidentally watched a video online (I'd been watching the Michael McIntyre Brits Abroad clip for probably the fifth time this week and it automatically moved on before I could stop it) about online bullying. Psychologists and charity workers on there were saying that a lot of the problem stems from the fact that it's <i>not cool to be kind. </i><br />
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And that thought genuinely made me feel sick. </div>
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Hopefully anybody who knows me will know that I am a real advocate of kindness. In fact, last year at a work party somebody, out of the blue, told me that kindness is one of the key features of my personality, and that that is rare. Probably the nicest thing anybody has ever said to or about me, and a comment that I will hold onto and whip out for years to come, every time I'm overcome with self doubt, or embarrassment at something I said in 2009. Telling me that was a huge act of kindness in itself- one that I am eternally grateful for. </div>
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But of course I'm not always kind. </div>
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Quite a lot of the time I'm not, actually. I'm a human being, after all, and quite often can't see past the end of my own nose. But I am <i>never </i>intentionally cruel, and don't think I know many people <i>at all </i>who are. </div>
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I shed a few tears watching this video- for the children suffering, for the parents dealing with devastated kids, for my baby who's no doubt one day going to have to deal with a world where <i>kindness isn't cool </i>but bullying via social media is,<i> </i>and of frustration that this is the world we live in. </div>
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I'm not sure whether kindness was cool when I was at school, but I've never cared about being cool (thankfully, I'd be miserable if I did care) but I have spent a lot of my adult life grateful that I didn't have social media to deal with as a teenager. As if that time isn't difficult enough. </div>
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I'm normally not particularly cynical- but the facts and figures on this video clip of <i>This Morning </i>were hard to argue with, and it terrified me. </div>
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So I thought that I would pay extra attention to the kind things going on around me and share them with you, in an attempt to remind myself (and maybe you, if you need a reminder) that there is kindness around us <i>all </i>the time, and there is absolutely no reason that it should be uncool...</div>
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1) Train Adventures</div>
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Today I was brave enough to take Squirt on the train alone (<i>and </i>I breastfed her on there- it's not just public kindness I'm convinced should be the norm, oh no) and whilst I was waiting at the station I was immediately relieved to realise that a group of Irish women were waiting for the same train. Now I don't like to stereotype but in my experience of living in Ireland generally I find the Irish to be the kings of kindness. As a nation, they are just about the nicest people in the world. </div>
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Sure enough, as soon as the train pulled in they gathered around me. </div>
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"Would you prefer it if we went on before you, and helped you from there, or after you, and helped you that way? Or a bit of both?" </div>
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Not helping me wasn't even an option. </div>
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On the way home it was snowing. It hadn't been snowing when I left so I was absolutely freezing in my soft coat and inappropriate shoes, and Squirt was snug in her snowsuit, three blankets, foot warmer and rain cover, and so naturally was absolutely furious that she wasn't out in the fun with me. Going anywhere with a screaming baby is never fun, but as I climbed aboard the packed train with her cries immediately filling the carriage I was ready for some classic British tutting. </div>
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Instead what I got was reassuring smiles, and I cannot tell you how appreciated they were. </div>
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2) Other People's Stories</div>
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On Friday night my dad and brother came over for dinner. </div>
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<i>What an excellent opportunity to fulfil my new year resolutions, </i>I thought. I can cook for them from scratch (resolution 1: learn to cook), and I'll have to be organised to have it all sorted on time for them to get here after work and immediately eat before the First Aid course we were doing at seven (resolution 2: be more organised). </div>
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(Actually, in the interest of being kind, may I take this moment to promote Daisy First Aid. Jennie came to our flat and ran the relaxed but hugely informative and enjoyable course. And she's so lovely. I was listening but I did also spend a lot of time thinking about how pretty her hair was. Anyway.) </div>
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I chose a recipe specifically because it was one that I could make during the day and heat up when they arrived so that everywhere could be tidy and ready for the course as soon as dinner was finished. I made a list of ingredients on my new handy magnetic post-it note board that lives on the fridge and felt like Mary Berry herself (who I assume is highly organised as well as being an excellent cook) as I peeled it from the top, popped it into my brand new pram organiser and glided into town, incredibly smug. I posted some birthday cards on my way (a week in advance, that's right) and as I headed home I had this beautiful vision of my family around the kitchen table, with a big bowl of salad in the middle and a hot, steaming dish of delicious loveliness beside it. </div>
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I quickly realised that I don't own a big salad bowl. So that image made a swift exit. </div>
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Then I realised that somehow, when I was making the list on my fancy life-changing-fridge-magnet, I had managed to leave off butternut squash. Which was the key ingredient. </div>
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I couldn't go back, because by this point Squirt was screaming<i>, </i>and when she gets into that state there really is no ignoring it. So I asked Dale to buy it on his way home from work. No problem. </div>
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Dale got delayed at work by over an hour. Butternut squash is <i>hard </i>to cut, and took way longer than I had planned. We didn't have any saucepans big enough for the amount of pasta the recipe said I needed, and by the time Dale stuck his head round the door to see how I was getting on my hair was scraped back in a 'mum bun' smelling of <i>burnt, </i>I was covered in sweat, flour, and squash pips, the kitchen was <i>covered </i>in macaroni, and I was shouting some choice words at the utensil drawer because that one that drains pasta (pasta drainer? I mean is that actually what it's for?) was nowhere to be found and I f...lipping needed it. </div>
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So I was not quite the glorious hostess I had been going for. </div>
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But it's only January. </div>
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I'll get there. </div>
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Anyway, I saw two of my best friends yesterday and I told them this story, just absolutely gutted that I'm such a failure as a mum and a wife and a hostess when what I was trying to do was so simple. </div>
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They didn't laugh, or overwhelm me with insincere 'oh nooo, you're doing a great job!' They just replied 'ummm....me too' and told their own stories. And that was <i>so kind. </i></div>
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One friend was sitting there in her always-immaculate living room with her perfect hair and her home made pesto ready to go with the sea bass that she was cooking. </div>
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The other one is pregnant and glowing, with a bag of snacks and toys for her 1 year old beside her whilst she told us about her new business. </div>
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And even <i>they </i>had stories about feeling incompetent and the ridiculous things they had done. They didn't have to tell them, and if they hadn't it would never even occurred to me that they ever do silly things like me. </div>
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So kind, and <i>so appreciated. </i></div>
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3) Jiminy Cricket</div>
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My friend Jiminy Cricket is just about the kindest person in the whole world. </div>
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She always thinks of extra lovely things to do- and seems to genuinely think nothing of it. </div>
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But the thing I love most about her is not the flowers she sends, or the little surprises she organises, or even that she drives to me even though it's very much my turn to drive to her because she knows how disproportionately terrified I am of putting Squirt in the car. </div>
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My favourite thing about Jiminy Cricket is that I can tell her <i>anything. </i></div>
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<i>Absolutely anything at all. </i></div>
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I truly believe that all human beings are judgemental and that's completely normal, but honestly Jiminy never reacts in a judgemental way to <i>anything </i>that I tell her, and I don't think I've ever heard her say a bad word about anybody else. </div>
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She might be the extreme of kindness. </div>
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But it makes her blooming wonderful to be around. </div>
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Which is why I don't understand this whole <i>kindness isn't cool</i> thing. Surely everyone would rather spend their time with kind people? </div>
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I always say that to be friends with Dale you have to be <i>incredibly, super, wonderfully kind, </i>because he just doesn't bother with people who aren't nice. (Unlike me. I have a pathological need to be liked. Even by not nice people. Which is ridiculous, I know, but probably quite common.) </div>
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My parents are both incredibly kind, and based on pictures of them circa 1982 I actually think they were cool teenagers. Perhaps it was in fashion to be nice then?</div>
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In all honesty I like to think that being cruel has never been fashionable- especially for adults-I like to think that ultimately people are super and that evil hits the headlines for a reason- because it's worth reporting. Because it's <i>not </i>the norm. </div>
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I am surrounded by endlessly kind people, and even now am feeling guilty that I haven't mentioned...everyone I know. </div>
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All the same, please look out for the kindness around you, please <i>be </i>the kindness around you, and please feel free to pass your magical stories onto me. </div>
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And any stories about cooking disasters that might make me feel better. </div>
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And for goodness sake the official name of that pasta scooping thing. </div>
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#SpreadtheJoy</div>
Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-81438636296826109242017-12-30T18:02:00.001-08:002017-12-31T03:41:43.601-08:00Little Big Things Regular readers among you will know that I usually limit myself to one post per month, but a few days ago a post I wrote in December 2012 came up on my <i>On This Day </i>app and inspired me to write an extra one.<br />
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It was a summary of the year: both for the country and for myself, and I was delighted to find (when I was self-indulgent enough to read my own writing back) that there were memories in there that I had completely forgotten about. </div>
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A sad moment for me this year was when I discovered that the diaries that I wrote religiously for four years between 2008-2012 had been ruined by damp in my mum's garage (and unlike when that happened to Monica in <i>Friends </i>I didn't manage to bag myself a Porsche out of it), so finding that reading my blog back can feel similar to reading old diaries was wonderful. Which is why I decided to do the same thing for this year. </div>
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(I should note here that between deciding to write this and actually sitting down to write, my little brother has expressed disdain for anyone who insists on reflecting on the year on social media. If you either are Chip or are like him in that way, apologies. This post is not for you. In fact, this post is mainly just aimed at 2022 Rebecca, but please do feel free to read on if you're interested. Also how mad is it that we're as close to the end of 2022 as we are to the end of 2012?!) </div>
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Anyway. </div>
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2017 was a mixed bag in that it was a sad and scary one for the world, really. I often find myself wondering whether the world has always been this scary. Perhaps I'm just more aware of it as I get older. But there were some super moments for us all as well, and in my personal little world it was one of the best years ever. Probably the most important so far (maybe ever?) for me. </div>
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I've convinced myself that it's okay to write about my best year so far as my 2012 summary was of my worst year so far. So that's okay, right? Keeps the balance? I don't want this to be like one of those awful Round Robin letters (or emails as the case may be) where you have to read about how flipping wonderful everybody else has been this year when you're there in your jammies, surrounded by chocolate wrappers and covered in spit up (me, right now) and feeling fairly gross.</div>
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It is a joy to read about warm and happy things at this time of year though. At the beginning of the month I deleted all social media apps from my phone because I was driving Dale crazy with my fury at the ridiculous things I would read.</div>
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"Why do you do it to yourself, especially just before bed?" </div>
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But as Christmas Eve crept up on us I logged in on the internet on my phone; partly to have a little peek at how all my creative mummy friends had used Elf on the Shelf (if you have me on Facebook and shared pictures of how you make magic with that little guy, trust me, I saw it and loved it-well done!) and partly to look at the cosy Christmas pictures of my friends across the globe. Everyone suddenly manages to have something happy to say at this time of year and it really is wonderful to read. </div>
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This year is the year I got married and had a baby. Big Things. </div>
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And the thing about having a baby in October is that when you welcome the new year in you have no idea that you'll be ending the year with a new baby. And somehow that feels huge. New Year holds such weight for me- as it does for many. Sure, there are the scrooges who insist if you want to make changes you can do so at any time of year, and of course they are right. But the thing is, I- along with many others- <i>do </i>make new resolutions throughout the year. I don't realise I need to change something in my life in May and think <i>ah well, only seven months until I can action that. </i>Obviously. But New Year is a super opportunity to reflect and set goals because it's one that's easy to measure in time. </div>
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So I take New Year seriously and it's just mad to me that when I was making my plans for the year this time twelve months ago I had absolutely no idea that I would be seeing in 2018 with a new little human that I spent the year making from scratch. Huge. </div>
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But of course, I won't ever forget getting married and having a baby. I won't forget those great things like walking down the aisle or meeting my little girl for the first time. I won't forget our incredible honeymoon or the moment we finally agreed on a name. </div>
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But I might forget some of those little but important things, so here are my top five big-and-magical-but-minor favourite moments of 2017...</div>
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1) Moment Number 1</div>
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My cousins, mum, auntie, Grandma and I have somehow found ourselves in a pattern of meeting for breakfast every now and then to laugh until we choke on our Eggs Benedict. I'm fortunate enough to be related to <i>the funniest women </i>in existence, and hanging out with them has created a million magical moments for me this year. </div>
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But the number one moment has to be when one of us (and for anonymity's sake I won't tell you which one of us) had egg on her face. This is how it went: </div>
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"Oh you've got a bit of egg on your nose. I can't carry on telling this story whilst that's there." </div>
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"Have I? I'll wipe it off." Gone. Super. The story continues. </div>
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"Wait. Sorry. I can't continue. Now it's on your cheek. How has it got there? The plates have been taken away! I can't-even-tell-the-story-now." </div>
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Spoiler alert. It ended up on the forehead. None of us could breathe for laughing. The story was never told. </div>
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You know those moments you laugh so much it forms a magical bond between everyone that's laughing? That's what every moment is like with that bunch of ladies. </div>
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2) Moment Number 2</div>
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In May of this year my beautiful friends planned me a Hen That's Not a Hen. I'm not a Hen weekend kinda gal. I'm a coffee and a chat kinda gal. Okay, I'm not boring (I like to think), I just can't think of anything worse than dragging my nearest and dearest away from their husbands and kids for the weekend so that we can drink too much through phallic straws and scream a lot whilst wearing devil horns and <i>sashes. </i></div>
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So instead, six of my absolute favourite humans in the entire world surprised me with an afternoon tea in the sunshine. It turns out that my mum is a <i>genuinely </i>fantastic actress because I really did have no idea, and that my friends are just the best. </div>
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Anyway, that's not my favourite moment. My favourite moment was the moment that they presented me with a book they had made me filled with photos, messages, and funny stories from throughout our twelve years of friendship. I laughed, cried, cringed (I remember saying to them when I was seventeen that I just couldn't imagine we'd ever look back and regret our 2006 clothes and haircuts because we just looked normal. What did I know?) and laughed some more, and every now and then I get it out again to look at and am filled with warm, fuzzy, loveliness. </div>
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3) Moment Number 3</div>
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Dale and I were standing at the altar, in the middle of our vows. The registrar asked for the rings, and so the ring bearers- Dale's nephews aged 7 and 2- brought them up, and we began to exchange them. </div>
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We got as far as "I give you this ring as a token of our..." before we were interrupted. Dale's two year old nephew had wandered over to the little stage we were standing on, hoisted his right leg (and it was such an effort) up onto the edge, followed- with equal effort- by his left leg, straightened himself up, wandered over to Dale, and gave him a little packet of biscuits to snack on. In the middle of the wedding ceremony. Oh, he knows his uncle so well. </div>
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It was just the kind of magical moment that you could never have planned but which <i>made </i>the day. I don't think you're supposed to laugh out loud during your vows (although my friend Pumbaa did laugh during hers saying <i>with my body I honour you </i>ha) but we all laughed and it was the talk of the reception drinks. </div>
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4) Moment Number 4</div>
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My leaving party from work involved the team ordering a <i>lot </i>of pizza and playing <i>Heads Up </i>in the centre. Hanging out with people from work is a rarity in my job because we're open seven days a week, so just being together without the responsibility was <i>brilliant. </i></div>
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The whole thing was full of so much fun and laughter, but the highlight for me was when someone got carried away trying to win the game and described the movie <i>Tower Heist </i>as 'a heist....except...in a tower!' </div>
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5) Moment Number 5</div>
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It was Boxing Day, and the entire family was sitting around the lounge, sipping glasses of wine and waiting for dinner to be ready in the next few minutes. None of us even realised anyone was missing. And that was when my mum popped into the kitchen to check on the turkey and immediately came running out squealing and laughing. Grandad Derek was in there. Eating the dessert. With crumbs all around his mouth. He really thought he wouldn't be caught. </div>
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When will he learn? </div>
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Hopefully no time soon. It's the most I've laughed since Tower-Heist-Gate.<br />
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And so it ends- the best year so far.<br />
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My resolution last year was to Be Fearless- something that I worked really hard on all year and will continue to keep in mind as we move in to 2018. This year I have a sparkly new diary that I plan to keep to record all of those Little Big Things that I know will mean the world to me, and encourage everyone to ignore those New Year Scrooges (sorry Chip) and take the time to reflect on your year, make a resolution that's important to you, and continue to find the magic in your own Little Big Things <3 </div>
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-22065626550909674572017-12-01T12:08:00.003-08:002017-12-01T13:38:14.957-08:00What being a mum is REALLY like...I have always wanted to be a mum.<br />
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The moment that my baby was placed on me for the first time I immediately thought of the Christmas (1995, I think) that I was given my Baby Born doll. I remember so clearly that my mum was getting more and more exasperated because my brothers had opened all of their presents and there was still a big pile for me that I simply wasn't interested in. I remember thinking that my mum didn't <i>understand. </i>If I put the baby down, she might cry.<br />
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(For those of you unfamiliar with Baby Born circa 1995, there was no crying feature. But to me she was real.)<br />
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By 1995 I had chosen names for my children as well. Names I was <i>convinced </i>I would use. So convinced, in fact, that I named my dolls <i>different </i>names so that my real children wouldn't be named after toys.<br />
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(Fun fact: I haven't used my girl name because Dale thinks it's the absolute worst name in existence. But if he hadn't been quite so passionately against it the name I chose as a child would have been the one I used. It's still my favourite 22 years later.)<br />
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Anyway, I named that dolly Gemma and I loved her more than anything in the world. I looked after her beautifully, and I can still picture putting her into a little cradle every night even in the house that we moved into around 2 years after I was given her.<br />
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Fast forward twenty two years and I'm finally laying in my hospital bed with my very own and very real newborn on my chest.<br />
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The room was filled with people buzzing about doing their thing- midwives, paediatricians, doctors, healthcare assistants...(I think. I'm actually not completely aware of who was there or what they were doing), and a few of them, along with my mum and Dale, kept firing questions at me that I would vaguely brush away so that I could focus on my new busy and important job: staring at this baby.<br />
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Very much the same as 1995.<br />
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And so now I'm a mum. I have, at last, joined that coveted club that I've been desperate to be a member of for as long as I can remember.<br />
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It feels a bit like I'm fibbing when I say that.<br />
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I'm not <i>really </i>a mum because my baby is only seven weeks old. Perhaps I'll be a real mum when she's seven <i>years </i>old. But then I won't have experienced what it's like to have a teenager. So do I have to wait until she's eighteen before I can count myself a member of the club?<br />
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But of course not.<br />
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I am a card (or is that scarred?) carrying member of the mum club, and I spend most days staring at our baby (Squirt) completely unable to believe my luck that this huge dream has finally come true.<br />
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Having spent a lot of time working with children of more or less every age, in a wide range of jobs, I've spent a lot of time wondering how it will be different when I have my own baby.<br />
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When you work with children but don't have your own you spend an unfair (I feel) amount of time being told you <i>don't quite understand </i>because <i>you're not a mum. </i><br />
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And so I have wondered for my entire adult life what secrets I would be let into once I had my own bundle of joy. What would I finally know once I was allowed to join the club? What pearls of wisdom would finally be bestowed upon me once I had been through childbirth myself?<br />
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Well now I know, and today I am going to break all the rules and reveal The Big Secret to you: whether you have children or not.<br />
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The Big Secret is: there is no big secret.<br />
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In my now vast experience of being a mum to one little girl for seven whole weeks, two whole days and around ten hours, I can tell you that whatever the books, blogs, vlogs, and other mums in your life may tell you: <i>nobody knows what it will be like for you. </i><br />
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I've found myself reading/watching/listening and speaking to parents who insist they know the answers. I'll read articles called things like <i>Four Things I Wish I had Known Before I Became a Mum. </i>The entire article will then be written as though it's fact (e.g. 1. You will lose half your friends once your baby is born) and will exclaim things like <i>we need to talk about this more- nobody talks about this stuff!</i><br />
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With all the things I have read and all the people I have spoken to, the absolute biggest lesson I have learnt so far is that everyone thinks they're an expert, and nobody actually is. If you believed everything you read about being a mum <i>oh my goodness </i>nobody would ever do it.<br />
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But so many of these articles will also say 'everybody likes to paint a positive picture of motherhood: focusing on the positives instead of telling the truth about what it's <i>really </i>like.'<br />
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Firstly- I think focusing on the positives about the biggest thing in your life right now is a fairly healthy way to live. Only talking about the negatives all the time cannot be good for your happiness, and definitely won't help you with keeping all those friends you're due to lose when you have a baby. (Just to be clear- I haven't lost any friends, but more on that later.)<br />
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Secondly- these lists <i>always </i>include lack of sleep, and when I was pregnant I can probably count on one hand the people I spoke to that <i>didn't </i>take it upon themselves to let me know I was never going to sleep again (including strangers who approached me in the supermarket at random)- so I'm not sure who these people are that are having babies and not realising that their sleep pattern is going to change.<br />
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Thirdly- <i>nobody can tell you what it's really like. </i>Because it's different for everyone. Because everyone is in a different position.<br />
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In my quest to make sense of the fact that the majority of the things I've been told/read about parenthood haven't been true at all, I imagined someone writing an article called 'What It's <i>Really </i>Like To Go On Holiday' with absolutely no context.<br />
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I went on holiday this year.<br />
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So I'm qualified to write about what a holiday is like, right? I could write that article, and write a list of things that you can and should expect when you go on holiday.<br />
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My holiday in May was for ten days. It was action-packed and non-stop. I went with my fiance. It was in California. I was twenty weeks pregnant. We went to three different cities and stayed in four hotels- some quite fancy and some that involved wonky flooring and questionable bedspreads. The weather moved constantly between baltic and balmy.<br />
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Similarly, my friend Jiminy went on holiday this year.<br />
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Her holiday in October was for five days. She went to Blackwood Forest with her parents, husband and one year old. They went to Peppa Pig World and the New Forest, and had unseasonably warm weather.<br />
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Now imagine if I wrote a list called <i>'Five Things You Need to Know Before You Go On Holiday</i>' and sent it to Jiminy and insisted that my experiences in California were exactly what she would experience in Blackwood Forest, and if anybody told her otherwise then they were just <i>avoiding the truth about going on holiday. </i><br />
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She would, of course, know that my list is nonsense.<br />
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But if she had never been on holiday before, and was already a bit nervous about going on holiday, it might worry her if a) I had insisted that anyone who is positive about holidays is lying and b) everything I said would happen didn't.<br />
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It's exactly the same with having a baby.<br />
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So here are three things that I've been told <i>and </i>read about motherhood that haven't been true <i>in my case... </i><br />
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1) You will lose half your friends when you have a baby.<br />
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I haven't lost any friends. (As far as I know, anyway.) Partly, I think, because I tend to only be friends with nice people. Partly because I really didn't have any expectations of my friends (and they have therefore all surpassed anything I could have expected). And partly because my lifestyle means that my friends <i>can </i>still be friends with me.<br />
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I think perhaps that one is aimed at people who have come from a wild lifestyle involving being out drinking every night with friends who don't have their own children. Before I had Squirt I would spend Saturday nights texting my pal Lady Adelaide my up-to-date opinions on Strictly. Having a baby hasn't affected that. So it's been easy for me to keep my friendships primarily the same.<br />
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2) You will no longer be able to sleep. Even when your baby is sleeping, every little sound will wake you up.<br />
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Dale wishes.<br />
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Dale has to spend around ten minutes (or so he tells me, I'm sure he's exaggerating) trying to wake me up to feed Squirt in the night. Nothing wakes me. Never has, never will. I'm just a super sleeper.<br />
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3) The first few months are torture.<br />
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I entered into parenthood with Dale. We decided- together- that we wanted to have a baby, and now we are in this adventure very much together. He doesn't 'help' me- we help each other. My own parents are <i>so </i>excited and beyond enthusiastic about helping. Dale's mum worked out how Squirt most likes to be held within about five minutes of meeting her and that knowledge has been invaluable. In the first week after she was born we had people turning up to make us lunch and do our washing up every day- without being asked. In the morning after our first tricky night with Squirt when she was going through a growth spurt my phone rang. My friend was outside with a Sleepyhead (a sleep tool that we didn't have yet) and a Tesco bag filled with the ingredients for wraps- within half an hour of her being here Squirt was asleep, I had had the most amazing shower, and Dale and I were both on the sofa eating lunch. When I was suffering from the effects of the labour Dale's sister sent me a long text filled with genuine empathy and advice. Jiminy Cricket receives around 30 texts a day from me asking questions- I feel like she is guiding me through motherhood one ridiculous conundrum at a time. Squirt and I go to two Baby Groups where people are kind and warm and chatty and lovely, and I get to sip coffee and chat to them and hang out with my baby instead of being at work. When I'm not at Baby Club I'm either at home or wandering town in my own time, reading, and always looking after my baby. Which suits me very much because I'm a home bird and enjoy my own company, but I know that it's not like that for everyone.<br />
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Yes, I do have to get up a few times in the night. Sometimes she cries and I don't know what's wrong and I'm not sure what to do about that. I spend a lot of time smelling of her sick, and the thought of having her in the car makes <i>me</i> feel so sick I could vomit right now thinking about it and as a result we've been in the car around 5 times since she was born.<br />
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On the other hand I know plenty of mums who have been immediately confident driving their babies about, and wouldn't have given it a second thought. I know babies who don't really spit up, and whose mums don't have to spend their days smelling of sick.<br />
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But I <i>genuinely</i> love every single second- even the seconds that I'm trying to stop her from crying, even the seconds that I want to (and often do) swear at Dale for waking me up at 3am, even the seconds that I'm convincing myself I forgot to strap her in (I have never and will never forget to strap her in), because I am <i>so aware </i>that this time is going to go so quickly and am going to miss it all one day.<br />
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When I was pregnant, among all of the 'make the most of your sleep now' and 'it changes your life you know?' chats, I had two stand out conversations.<br />
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One was with a parent from work, and one was with my auntie.<br />
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The parent told me that she looks back on those early days- even the days when she ended up sitting and crying because her baby just wouldn't go to sleep- with real affection, and that I should enjoy them whilst I can.<br />
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My auntie told me that she was <i>just so excited </i>for me because I was about to embark on such a lovely time in my life. She told me stories about her routine with my cousins, and what she enjoyed about those days.<br />
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And I <i>really </i>think that it should come back into fashion to have conversations like that.<br />
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I <i>completely </i>agree that mums should feel able to moan, and to warn one another about the hard bits and pieces that come with motherhood.<br />
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But I also feel that we shouldn't talk like experts (nobody is), we shouldn't be making women feel ashamed or guilty for enjoying it (which honestly so many of these articles do- it really isn't in vogue to enjoy being a mum right now), and we certainly shouldn't be insisting that we know what it's <i>really </i>like, because what is it <i>really </i>like?<br />
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The secret is: nobody knows.<br />
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A few mums have actually opened the conversations they've had with me since Squirt was born with 'I promise it gets better.' Before even saying hello.<br />
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And I always think <i>how flipping exciting. </i><br />
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<i>Because it's so magical as it is. </i><br />
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What I wish I had known before I had a baby?<br />
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That <i>nobody </i>would be able to tell me what it's <i>really </i>like.<br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-73113402157899105402017-11-12T16:04:00.001-08:002017-11-12T16:04:24.006-08:00You've Got To Be You Around this time last year I was at a charity quiz when another woman at the table scoffed at me for knowing the answer to a question about a reality television star. Scoffed, in fact, I feel is an understatement. She humiliated me in front of the entire team by making a <i>huge </i>deal about how I should be embarrassed to know the answer to that, that I should be spending my time on more worthwhile things so that I <i>don't </i>know the answer to such empty questions. She made me feel stupid and pointless, and that feeling stayed with me.<br />
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As it happens I don't know how I knew the answer to that question. I've never actually watched the show that she's from. Some things are just absorbed from life, I think. I always remember my tiny cousin picking up her pretend phone once and saying "no I just want to cancel my direct debit before it comes out on Tuesday." Perfect context. Perfect sense. From a three year old. Absorbed from life.<br />
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Similarly earlier in the year I had family over for a barbecue and we had a music channel on. At some point in the evening the music stopped and a show started. My dad asked what it was and three of us replied "Keeping Up with the Kardashians."<br />
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"Never seen it." He replied.<br />
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"Me neither," the three of us who had known what it was said. But somehow we all knew who each member of the family was and what was going on in their personal lives.<br />
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Anyway, the humiliating dressing down I got from that woman has stayed with me all year. How can I help what I know? If I <i>don't </i>know something that I definitely should then perhaps I need to start reading more or popping the news on every night. But how can I help what I <i>do </i>know?<br />
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I, like most people I imagine, am trying my best. I'm trying my best to be kind, intelligent and involved. To be the best I can be at being a friend and a sister, a daughter and a wife, at my job and- most recently- at being a mum. At spending my time wisely.<br />
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Then, of course, there are the wider issues. As I get older I have to be concerned not only about <i>my </i>world- about being good to the people I listed above, but I also have to worry about my effect on the environment, my stance and actions in making a difference toward those less privileged than I am, and about how my stance and actions as a woman affect the future of women.<br />
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And I'm trying my best.<br />
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But in this big outburst about my knowledge of someone from TOWIE I suddenly felt that I wasn't doing well enough. Not at being intelligent, not at spending my time wisely, and most significantly- not at being the kind of woman that I am meant to be.<br />
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I'm the kind of person who always wants to do the right thing, who truly hates to be thought of as stupid, boring, or thoughtless and- again, like most people, I think- worries far too much about what others think. So I want to stand up for women. I want to fight for our rights. I want to be confident enough to take action when I know I'm being treated unfairly because I'm a woman. I want to be fully aware of how much easier I have it as a woman because of my background, and I want to be able to say and do the right things to action change for those it might not be as easy for.<br />
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Which I think is why I battle with any suggestion that I'm stupid. How am I supposed to do all of those things if I am?<br />
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I don't yet have the confidence to provide a quick and cutting reply to anyone who makes me feel stupid, but thanks to my friend Simba I made a fantastic discovery this year that means that I'm much further along the road in being able to.<br />
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A few months ago Simba introduced me to <i>The Guilty Feminist. The Guilty Feminist </i>is a podcast that- in their own words- explores our noble goals as twenty-first century feminists and the hypocrisies and insecurities which undermine them. In my words, they're incredible women discussing a wide range of topics whilst acknowledging the fact that real life every day feminists are not what they are often made out to be. Every podcast starts with 'I'm a feminist but...', which involves the presenters explaining the guilty non-feminist things they did/said/thought that week. Mine is usually something along the lines of 'I'm a feminist but...I listen to a podcast about feminism whilst I clean the house and my husband sits on his computer.'<br />
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And it's amazing. It turns out women all over the globe feel exactly the same as I do. They really do want to be incredible women who have the ability to change the world around them and beyond through their attitudes and actions, but sometimes it's not as straightforward as some media may have you believe. Sometimes, for example, who you are can hold you back from fulfilling the traditional picture of a feminist.<br />
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I've always been led to believe- by the kind of women who put other women down for being able to recognise a celebrity- that to be a feminist you have to look and act a particular way. I have always felt that I wasn't quite welcome in that club because I've always wanted to get married and have a baby. I spend money on make up and care how I look. I like pumpkin spice lattes and know every single episode of <i>Friends </i>off by heart and no matter how much I enjoy thrillers I would always rather be watching <i>Bridget Jones</i>. I <i>love </i>Disney and still know most of the <i>Steps </i>dance routines and have been known to tear up just thinking about an advert.<br />
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<i>That </i>girl can't be a feminist, right?<br />
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Then I started listening to this podcast. One week they started discussing the fact that anything traditionally liked by 14 year old girls is mocked, seen as a bit pathetic. One woman said she actually quite likes Justin Bieber, and that fact doesn't mean that she hasn't read <i>To Kill a Mockingbird. </i>Why shouldn't the same person be able to enjoy and partake in completely different things? Why should anything aimed at a teenage girl be a 'guilty pleasure'? Why can't it just be enjoyed? Why should I be ashamed of answering a charity quiz night question correctly? Does that undo any questions I answered correctly about politics? Of course it doesn't. But for some reason it took these impressive women discussing it for that to click into place for me.<br />
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A few weeks later they were discussing the idea of being 'fabulous' as a feminist. They discussed the fact that there can sometimes be a feeling in feminism that you have to be dowdy in appearance rather than feminine. They were saying that it's one thing to dress and make yourself up in a way that's forced because it's how somebody else looks or how you think you should look, but it's another to take an interest in clothes and make up and in a way that enables you to <i>genuinely </i>express yourself. <i>That's all well and good, </i>I thought, <i>if you are a flamboyant person who expresses themselves with bright lipstick and a feather boa. Then it's clear you're expressing yourself. But what if your genuine, deep down, personal style is relatively boring like mine? </i><br />
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And that's when a voice chimed in: 'Some people's self expression is expressed in a stereotypical feminine way, and that shouldn't be derided.' And another light bulb went on in my head. My appearance is self expression because I wouldn't feel like myself if I were to dress any other way. I've noticed recently that there are lots of girls in Chelmsford with messy high blonde pony tails and big thick rimmed glasses and that they all look gorgeous. But I wouldn't try and conform to that because I wouldn't feel like myself.<br />
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They went on to discuss the fact that it <i>is </i>still okay for little girls to choose to dress up at princesses, despite the general feeling at the moment that the mum whose daughter is a superhero has 'won feminism.' My memory of being little and my experience with children tells me that they dress up as something different every day- sometimes throughout the day. As an adult working with children I've been known to dress as a princess, a zombie, a dinosaur, a clown..so a girl in a superhero outfit may well- probably will, in fact- be a princess tomorrow and a dinosaur the next. Everyone's a winner. And that's my guilt at quite liking princesses banished.<br />
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What I have finally realised is the fact that I know what's comfortable for me and always style myself that way <i>is </i>my way of expressing myself. The fact that I know that I love American sitcoms and syrupy coffee and am excited to be a mum but also want to be a writer and see the world change for minorities and read about Irish history absolutely do not need to be contradictory.<br />
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I excitedly expressed all of this to a friend who replied "the whole POINT of feminism is that it is inclusive and nobody is lesser or more 'equal', whatever the hell that might mean. It's so much more feminist to like and love what you do and who you are than to live in judgement of others."<br />
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I've always felt this way- that I'm not quite in the feminist club because of my relatively feminine, and often predictable, nature, but what I have finally accepted is that that is inherently who I am- a feminine feminist, and no amount of judgement from others should change that. I also think that surely the most important thing of all for women to be in with a chance is for us to boost one another up, respect one another and shout about how wonderful the women around us are. Telling each other that we're not allowed in the Boosting Women Club because we dress or eat or spend our time a certain way is, of course, ridiculous.<br />
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I'm just delighted that I had this sudden epiphany exactly one week before I went into labour with my daughter- who will now be brought up as a guilt-free guilty feminist. By day. And whichever superhero she wants by night. Even if it's Cinderella. Or a dinosaur.<br />
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<i><br /></i>Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-71905265529320816002017-10-23T12:07:00.001-07:002017-10-23T12:19:24.646-07:00Celebrate the Magic<div>
On my very first day in Walt Disney World almost five years ago, my new friends and I ventured into Magic Kingdom to discover the night time spectacular <i>Wishes. </i>It was absolutely incredible, and had a genuine magic about it that made every single person watching it feel as though it was speaking directly to them. </div>
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My favourite part, however, was the short projection show that was on in the build up to <i>Wishes. Celebrate the Magic. </i>It was, exactly as the name suggests, a ten minute celebration of everything Disney- from a wide range of characters and music with clever transitions from one world to another to quotes from Walt himself- it really did make the most wonderful watching, and it was a bittersweet night last year when Dale and I watched the last ever showing of it before it was replaced.</div>
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On the day that I saw it for the first time I was relatively emotional- you know, having just moved my life across the world to make my own dreams come true- and so let the tears stream all the way through both shows. </div>
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But there was one line in it- a quote from Walt Disney- that sent tears dancing down my face <i>every single time </i>I watched it, and will never get old. </div>
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<i>I only hope that we never lose sight of one thing- that it was all started by a mouse. </i></div>
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What a brilliant quote. </div>
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The reminder that Walt Disney's idea to create a mouse as a character that day that then grew into all of those other characters, the parks, stores, music, shows, films, cruise ships- the list is endless- is filled with magic in itself. </div>
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I am fascinated by the idea that at any given moment something could pop into your head or into your life and change your future forever. </div>
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I heard a story yesterday about a couple who met in Hong Kong when the woman- an English midwife working abroad- was asked by a colleague to go with her on a date to accompany her new boyfriend's friend. And the rest is history. They have three children, who between them have seven children. That's a whole lot of humans that wouldn't exist if she hadn't gone on that date. </div>
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Entire worlds changed because of that decision to go on that date. </div>
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I often think about the time I was bored on New Year's Day in between films and turkey sandwiches and found a job in Disney World online and decided to apply on a whim. I genuinely didn't think anything of it. </div>
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But when I got that first email inviting me to the first round of interviews I was overwhelmed with the feeling that my life might be about to change. Which of course it did. </div>
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By the time I knew I was going to move to Orlando I knew that my life was about to change. </div>
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But again, like the time I applied for the job, I often think about the time I had been living in Orlando and working in Disney World for almost four months when I'd had enough of one particularly irritating cast member. I stormed around the pub from where I was working on reception to where my friend Dumbo was working in quick service so that I could moan. I let rip, listing off the many annoying things he had done that day when Dumbo cleared her throat and said 'um...Rebecca. This is Dale. It's his first day of training.' </div>
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I was mortified- I'm so rarely a moaner and now this poor lad was going to think I was terrible. </div>
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What I didn't think was- the entire course of my life has just changed. Which again- of course it had. I had just met my future husband. </div>
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Sara Bareilles has been writing songs that better express how I feel than I could ever write for my entire adult life, and as a result has written more or less the entire soundtrack to my relationship with Dale.<br />
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At every stage of our relationship one of her songs has made an appearance and beautifully summed up where we were.</div>
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Just to be clear they weren't all love songs- there's one song that I have quoted at him on many occasions because it so fantastically sums up why I've got my cross face out. </div>
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In June I walked down the aisle to the song that I fell in love with around the same time as I realised that I was going to marry Dale (a couple of years before he proposed, I might add), and as time goes on Sara continues to write songs for me and sum up my feelings beautifully. </div>
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So you can imagine my absolute joy when I discovered <i>Everything Changes </i>last week. </div>
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The first line is: <i>Today's a day like any other, but I am changed, I am a mother- in an instant.</i></div>
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Now I've been relatively emotionally stable since I went into labour. I didn't cry when my baby was born, I didn't cry on Infamous Day Three when the hormones normally kick in, I didn't cry the first time I heard her cry. </div>
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But when, on day five, I heard that line '<i>in an instant'- </i>everything finally hit me all at once. </div>
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Once again, Sara Bareilles has said everything I want to express and can't. </div>
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My friend Simba had asked me a couple of days before whether everything had changed or whether everything felt the same, and I had found it really difficult to answer. </div>
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Generally before I gave birth Dale and I tended not to get up every three hours in the night, we didn't sleep at the foot of the bed, have a lounge filled with various brightly coloured items, or have around seven visitors a day. </div>
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But we're still watching 24 and Strictly, still eating too much Ben and Jerry's and promising to be healthier tomorrow, still walking into town every day and still finding huge joy in a hot drink. We're still seeing friends, reading books (I am, anyway), and still writing (again, just me). </div>
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Oh, and now we have a daughter. We're parents. We have a child. We're bringing up a human being. </div>
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It doesn't matter how I say it, no words will give it the weight it deserves.</div>
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And it happened <i>in an instant.</i></div>
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I found out I was pregnant particularly early in the pregnancy- I had only been pregnant for 12 days when I did a positive test- which means that we spent nine months knowing that we were having a baby. Nine months creating a nursery, buying a whole host of things we hadn't even known existed, arguing over names, washing teeny, tiny clothes, watching my bump grow. </div>
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And then one day- without any warning- I went into labour. I woke up that morning, had breakfast, had a long chat with my mum, watched a film, spoke to my Grandma on the phone, did some ironing- had a regular day. Then at three in the afternoon my contractions started. I stayed quite calm. Didn't tell anyone. Had dinner. Watched a couple of Harry Potter films, It Takes Two (the Strictly spin off, not the Olsen twins film), some old recorded episodes of Would I Lie to You, some Gavin and Stacey, Friends. Had two baths. Still absolutely no acknowledgement from me that I was genuinely going to have a daughter soon. Then it was 1am. Dale got home from work. <i>Let's pop to the hospital, just see what they think. </i>1.30am. Arrived at the hospital. 7.44am. Became a mother. <i>In an instant. </i></div>
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No amount of notice can prepare you for how instant it is. </div>
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And Everything Changes. Of course it does. The entire world has just changed because the most gorgeous, immediately hilarious, perfectly formed human has just entered the world and she's <i>yours. </i></div>
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<i>And who I was has disappeared, it doesn't matter now you're here. </i></div>
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I like to think that I haven't (and won't!) have a personality transplant, but I remember Pumbaa's husband saying after their son was born that he genuinely didn't care what others thought since he had become a dad, and I like to think I understand exactly what he meant. </div>
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<i>And I swear I'll remember to say we were both born today. </i></div>
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If you've recently- or ever, in fact- had a baby, listen to <i>Everything Changes </i>from the musical <i>Waitress </i>written by Sara Bareilles. It's like she was there.</div>
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Everything and nothing has changed. The entire world has just changed because the most incredible human grown by me has just entered it and I'm not sure I will ever get my head around it. But we will continue as we always have- celebrating the magic, spreading the joy. Enjoying our food, each other, <i>The Apprentice, </i>everything Disney. </div>
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And now, Mia Sophie Harper Stark. Born 7.44am. 5lb13. </div>
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Tuesday 10th October 2017. </div>
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<i>And I swear I'll remember to say we were both born today. </i></div>
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<i>I only hope that we never lose sight of one thing: that it was all started by a mouse. </i></div>
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-25020837727539607332017-09-14T12:07:00.001-07:002017-09-14T12:20:56.954-07:00I'll Be There For You<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm curled up on the floor of my living room in my comfiest clothes, watching a Netflix romantic comedy whilst one set of impossibly tiny clothes dries outside on the patio and another set flies about in the washing machine. I've just hung up the phone, having been chatting to a work friend for 40 minutes, and am waiting for the phone to ring again so that Dale can tell me he's free to pop out of work and meet me in Mothercare. I'm purposely ignoring the cries of the custard creams in the cupboard and telling myself I'll chop up some fruit in a minute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's a Thursday afternoon.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Welcome to maternity leave.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've been incredibly emotional about maternity leave- as I imagine most people are, since it only occurs when your hormones are completely out of control, your life is about to change, you're somewhere between vaguely uncomfortable and unbearable pain twenty four hours a day, and you keep being told that you're going to experience huge trauma followed by the most love you have ever felt any day now.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But also- I love my job.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My job is my current baby. I was lucky enough to launch the education centre I work in. The day I started it was an empty shell with a couple of desks and a single phone. I went in in my leggings and baggy jumpers and got covered in dust putting computers together. I unpacked boxes of office stuff and spent days organising and reorganising where we were going to keep books and stationery.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I went through the first CVs, hired the first team, signed up the first member.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Just to be clear, this was all with two other managers. I'm not taking all the credit.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Minnie Mouse was in labour, the only thing that stopped me tearing my hair out was the distraction of interviewing new tutors to run our centre. When Dale and I were living in different counties and could only see each other every other weekend, hanging out with hilarious children and saving up their quotes to tell him kept me sane. When I was given the worst news I have ever been given, I spent the day teaching children maths and English- watching their little faces light up when they got something right, watching them visibly inflate when I praised them for their attitude- and was temporarily relieved of thinking about it all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That's the job itself.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then there's the part that makes or breaks every job: the people.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am fortunate enough to have worked alongside incredible people: managers, tutors, parents, and of course, children.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we got engaged, my colleagues were among the very first people I told. The tutors contributed far more than I'm sure they know to the planning of my wedding, and I can't imagine having made it through this pregnancy without the input of some of the parents.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I went through a phase of telling people I was pregnant and being met either with a reaction along the lines of 'I thought so, you've been looking ever so bloated', or 'wow, was it a shock?' Neither were reactions that I particularly appreciated, and it got to the stage that I had heard little else.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then I saw a particular member. She's nine.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Can I tell you a secret?" I asked. "I have a baby in my tummy."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She threw her arms in the air, squealed, and cried 'amazing news! Congratulations!'</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was honestly the most grown up and heartwarming response I had.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some of my proudest moments happened in that centre. From the moment the first child came in to tell me he had passed the 11+, to the time an eight year old member finally spoke for the first time outside of his family home. From the small, daily triumphs like watching a nine year old finally make the connection between multiplying and dividing, to watching a tutor excel following their training and go on to become a qualified teacher.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every day was filled with small triumphs and hilarious moments, and anyone who knows me will know that my favourite things about this and every other job I've had are a) the ridiculous sentences you say when you work with children b) all the brilliantly funny things you hear when you work with children.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I could write a novel filled with them, but here are my favourites from my last week...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1) "I don't want to alarm you but do you know that there's a flip flop in your hair?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2) "I think I should try and write this more perfectly, it really doesn't make sense." A six year old boy after reading back his sentence.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3) "And were you concentrating or were you sticking pencils up your nose?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4) "I went to have a drink of water but it made my ear hurt so I don't think I can do any more." A (different) six year old boy trying to get out of doing his maths.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">5) "See if you can guess my favourite dinner." Five year old girl. "It's a type of meat."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Okay...roast dinner? No? Steak? No? Sausage and mash? No? I give up."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"It's chocolate ice cream!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">6) "It was my sister's birthday last year." Five year old boy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Last year? Was it? Are you sure you mean last year?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Yep, definitely."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"He means yesterday." His ten year old sister.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">7) "I went to London yesterday, to see the Eiffel Tower."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">8) "Do you think you should be blowing raspberries or doing your work?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Blowing raspberries."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Oh right....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">9) "Then I had to stand up on the train all the way back from London to England."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">10) "Why is she crying?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"She asked her sister to guess her favourite pizza toppings. She got them all right. She didn't want her to."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Of course it wasn't all laughing at children and chatting with parents; there were times when the pressure got too much, or expectations were too high; when people were rude or frustratingly unreasonable. But there was never, ever a time when there wasn't an amazing person beside me or on the phone to remind me that people are occasionally awful and that that's not my fault.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I had been doing this job for a year I looked back over what I had achieved and, more importantly, what I had learnt, and was both impressed and proud (in a self-effacing, British way, mind you) at how much it had given me in such a short amount of time. I remember thinking 'imagine where I'll be in <i>another year.'</i></span></span><br />
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A year after that I had been promoted and was facing a whole host of new challenges- equally frustrating, fun and full of self-development, and equally impossible without the amazing people I had around me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A year after that and here I am. Spending my afternoons writing, watching Netflix and eating. (Just so you know in the time I've written this I've had two squares of chocolate, a peanut butter cup and a hot chocolate. The fruit continues to sit sadly in the bowl on the kitchen table.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My last few weeks in my job were emotional, to say the least.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Most days I arrived struggling to breathe as my baby is squashing my innards and the rush into the centre didn't help. I've been suffering so much with heart burn that if this baby comes out with anything less than a thatch to rival my Grandad Derek's (he has the most incredible hair, even as he trots through his 70s) I'll be highly disappointed. And I'm so, so tired. Absolutely exhausted, all the time. Which means I spent a lot of time thinking that these blissful days off couldn't come soon enough.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But then one by one I'd realise it was my last shift with a tutor, or the last time I'd see a certain child, or their parents. Or a child would make me laugh so hard that I couldn't breathe for different reasons. Or one of the other managers would say something so relate-able, or would find something as funny as I did, and I'd just want to sob at the thought of leaving.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the last month we had a fourth manager join us, so that when I left they would continue to be the necessary team of three.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We, as a group of four, had a magic about us, I like to think, in that we were all so different in so many ways, but so similar in all the important ways. We spent a lot of time finding the same things funny, and the same things infuriating, which brings people together in such a special way, doesn't it?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had worked with one member of that team for two years, one for almost a year, and one for a month. And in all that time had spent the majority of it communicating in <i>Friends </i>quotes, and making sense of everything (as I always have done) through <i>Friends </i>comparisons.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Which is why, when I left work on my last day as a team of four, I emailed Jo Whiley.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The radio 2 listeners among you will know that it's incredibly rare that they provide the opportunity for the public to request songs, but every weekday evening on my drive home Jo Whiley runs a feature called <i>Taxi Service. </i>This involves listeners who are on the road contacting her with the song that they want to hear whilst they are playing taxi driver, and let her know what or who it is that they are taxiing.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I sent the following email:</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;">Hi Jo! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;">It's the end of an era. I am about to taxi myself and my unborn baby home from work for the last time after 3 years in the most wonderful job with the most genuinely fabulous team- feeling so emotional! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;">We will, of course, stay in touch and continue to bond over Popmaster and taxi service from afar, but if you could play I'll be there for you by The Rembrandts after 3 years of communicating in Friends quotes I'm sure it would brighten all of our drives home!! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;">Thank you so much, love your show always, </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;">Rebecca </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I listened intently to Taxi Service. She read out a series of texts and emails that weren't from me, and eventually played <i>No Scrubs </i>by TLC-which was an excellent choice- just not mine. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She then played another few songs before the news. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The news finished, a standard BBC radio ad went out, and then the opening chimes of <i>I'll Be There For You </i>burst onto the radio. I, having managed to keep my emotions in check all week, promptly burst into tears and sobbed all the way through the song, before Jo came on and read out my email and said she hadn't seen it in time for taxi service but couldn't let it just go by. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Safe to say all of us cried at the sound of that song that evening. One of the girls said that when it first started she thought 'it's a divine intervention, what are the chances?!' And then she immediately thought 'wait, I bet Rebecca's been in contact with them somehow.' And then she cried. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It really was the perfect ending to my three magical years, and was made even better when, on my actual last day (for which only two of us were in), the other two managers, plus a manager from a different centre, turned up to surprise me with cake and presents and love. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And now here I am, two weeks later, feeling wonderful for just having spoken to them again. </span></span><br />
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So yes, I took so much from this job. Leadership and credibility and assertiveness and business sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the biggest thing that I will hold onto from this job is that there are <i>such </i>incredible people out there. Children, who are hilarious, inquisitive, wise, kind and naturally thoughtful. Teenagers, desperate to make a difference in the world and full of life and enthusiasm for starting out their adult lives as role models for children. Twenty-somethings, still discovering who they are and changing and improving every day and being understanding, kind, hilarious and curious as they do so. Parents, comfortable enough to share their life stories with me and thoughtful enough to want to help me. Parents, who just want the absolute best for these little humans they've created, and who will fight tooth and nail for them to have the best.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I often tell my Grandma stories from work and she will say 'gosh you do meet all sorts working there, don't you?'</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yes I do.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There is very little that will surprise me about humans now.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But what I do know is that whilst there are scary things happening in the world, and whilst the media may be insisting that adults are greedy and selfish and cruel, and children no longer have any manners or respect, I can confirm that for the most part, this is not true.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have met all sorts in my job, and whilst they are all different, they are all wonderful, and ultimately are just trying to do the right thing by the people around them. There are exceptions, of course. But they are exceptions.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so as I pulled the shutters across for the last time on what had been an empty shell with a few desks and a single phone, and was now a fully functioning education centre filled with incredible people, stories and memories, I kept the tears at bay and let my heart fill up instead. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will continue to use all that wisdom from all those incredible people for this next adventure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My actual baby. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the mean time, I'll be here for you.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eating, mostly.</span></span><br />
<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-58618107631407136672017-08-12T15:53:00.000-07:002017-08-12T15:53:07.996-07:00Almost There I could probably have written a post on pregnancy every month of this year, but a) I was aware of slipping into the trap of becoming a motherhood blogger and more prominently b) when I haven't been at work I've been asleep.<br />
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But there's so much to say that I absolutely cannot let this pregnancy go by without managing at least one post on the magical adventure that is growing a child.<br />
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I've found myself adding a preface to everything I say recently, and this is no exception.<br />
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Just so you know: I <i>do </i>know how lucky I am. And I'm not complaining in any way. Merely observing the trials and tribulations that come with pregnancy. Sort of in the same way I loved to moan about my ridiculous guests in Disney or the other people around the pool in Majorca. I'm not saying I wish I wasn't going through it, I just love a little moan.<br />
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In fact, I am so aware of how lucky I am that I spent the first half of my pregnancy in absolute disbelief. At my first four appointments when I was asked 'do you have any questions?' I answered 'are you sure I'm pregnant?'<br />
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Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 1: Nobody checks you're pregnant for TWELVE WEEKS. Everyone just takes your word for it that you've done a positive test, and there's no such thing as a false positive. I mean I'm not totally sure why you'd tell a lie for the sake of having to fill in endless forms, answer insane questions like 'and is your husband also your blood relative?' and have all kinds of needles poked into you, but even so.<br />
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Every time I asked whether I was definitely pregnant I was met with the same reaction. A laugh and an exasperated nod. But I'm sure everyone must go through that in those first weeks.<br />
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I had around three days during my first trimester that I didn't throw up, and for those three days I convinced myself that I had invented the entire pregnancy in my head and vowed never to moan about morning sickness again (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 2: morning sickness is absolutely not limited to the morning).<br />
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Those days aside, I did throw up more or less every day between four and fourteen weeks though- and my love of <i>Friends </i>and various other tv shows means that I was more or less ready for that. What I wasn't ready for was <i>just how hard </i>it is to keep your pregnancy a secret in that time. I knew that people tend not to announce anything until they've had their twelve week scan, and I have always thought that I hope I don't find out I'm pregnant until as close to twelve weeks as possible to save me having to keep such a big secret. (I found out at three weeks.)<br />
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But what I hadn't considered is this....<br />
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1) You're really tired in that time. I mean, like a kind of tired I have never experienced before. And whilst a couple of irritating people have told me to 'wait until the baby's here if you think you're tired now', <i>every </i>other mother I have spoken to has said it's a different kind of tired. A special kind of tired reserved exclusively for pregnancy. A few people have told me that's how they've known they're pregnant- that awful, overwhelming, un-fightable exhaustion.<br />
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2) You lose your mind. <i>Seriously. </i>The reason I did the test the day that I did it was that I walked around 15 seconds across the education centre I work in to say something to a mum dropping off her son. As soon as I got there I had to apologise that I couldn't remember what I was there for. I followed it with 'I don't know if this is my age or something but this <i>keeps </i>happening to me and I've never had this before.' She leaned in and said 'perhaps you're pregnant', smiled, and walked away.<br />
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3) You're not just sick at 7am. You're sick all.day.long. I was sick if I got too hungry, which meant I had to eat regularly (not very easily done in my job), and was sometimes just sick out of the blue. I was sick outside a school, in the middle of a meeting with my manager, during a conversation with someone I manage, and at my mum's hen weekend seconds before a whole group of family friends walked into the bathroom.<br />
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All of this means that you're fairly useless during this time, which means that a) people guess (I had two mums from work guess and ask me outright during those first twelve weeks and it was <i>so awkward), </i>b) you want sympathy. You want twelve weeks off work and lots of sympathy, please, and c) you want everyone to know that you're actually not completely useless, it's just a phase. (Hopefully, anyway.)<br />
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Then on top of all that, it's really exciting! We were <i>so </i>excited- I've mentioned in a post before that I had to stop Dale buying the baby a bubble machine back in March. And when people mention babies/pregnancy/time off work/anything even remotely related to babies, you want to shout about it and keeping it quiet is SO HARD.<br />
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But we made it through that thanks to a combination of each other, a constant supply of custard creams, and my cousin Hannah (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 3: It cannot be done without having an incredible cousin who happens to be an amazing midwife. She's the first person we told and the reason that we made it through that first trimester without going crazy. Honestly. She knows everything and I don't know how anyone does it without her), and then we were able to announce it. And that's when the real fun began.<br />
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The most striking question that I was asked- and I was asked by a <i>surprising </i>number of people- mostly (though with a couple of exceptions) people who absolutely do not know me well enough to ask, when we announced it was- "was it a shock?"<br />
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Well, no Barbara, because there's quite a specific process for getting pregnant and I've followed all the steps. Of course it wasn't a shock, but thanks for implying that this absolute miracle might have been.<br />
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The other one is "are you finding out what you're having?"<br />
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<i>This is a trick question. </i><br />
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If you're doing what <i>that </i>person would do, you're fine (though you will have to endure a ten minute lecture on why what you're doing is the right thing), if you're <i>not, </i>oh my goodness, strap yourself in for a long and tedious journey through Why Your Decision Is A Mistake.<br />
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Does it really matter to you, guest at my mum's wedding that I'm meeting for the first time today, whether I find out the sex of my baby before its birth?<br />
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(Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 4: Everything you decide about your baby seems to matter to everyone. For a couple of weeks I made the mistake of actually answering people when they asked me whether I had any names I like. People are <i>brutal. </i>Also naming a human is hard. There's too much to consider.)<br />
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And it only continues from there.<br />
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Because that's when the experts come in.<br />
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And by the experts I mean <i>everyone in the world. </i><br />
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If my amazing, experienced midwife cousin Hannah doesn't know, she'll tell me. So one of our conversations went like this:<br />
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"Hannah, do you think my wedding dress will still fit me in June?"<br />
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"I'm really sorry but there's absolutely no way of knowing. Every single person is different and sometimes the same person is completely different with different babies, so there really is no way of predicting it at all. Sorry that's not more helpful."<br />
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Hannah needn't have worried though, because all the office workers, cashiers, estate agents and teachers of the world were able to tell me with confidence. I had everything, from "there's no <i>way</i> you'll be able to hide it, you're so tiny, you'll be all bump" to "26 weeks? My sister's best friend's brother's wife didn't even know herself until she was 37 weeks, you'll definitely be able to hide it at 26 weeks."<br />
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And it is not just there that the experts stopped with their wisdom either....oh no....<br />
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1) Midwife: You really should monitor your intake of fish, as you could eat too much mercury and poison the baby.<br />
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Expert: Don't be ridiculous, what about in countries where they live by the sea and their entire diet is made up of seafood?<br />
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Excellent point, man who works as a driving instructor, but even so, I don't live off an entire diet of seafood and the advice provided based on the most up to date research and provided by the experts is to monitor it, so I'll be sticking to my eggs on toast today, thank you.<br />
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2) Midwife: Everything's looking really healthy, your bump is on the 90th centile so as long as you continue to grow along that line you'll remain low risk.<br />
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Expert: You're ever so small. That bump's barely there. Actually even my husband mentioned the other day that he thought you were a bit small for thirty weeks.<br />
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<i>Even </i>your husband? Even? You say that as though he's an expert, Deborah, but doesn't he work on the cheese counter in Morrisons? I don't really care what he thinks. Good to know you discuss my figure at home though.<br />
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3) Sonographer: Hm I've been looking at this screen for about fifteen minutes now and there is just no way of telling whether it's a girl or a boy. The baby has its legs crossed so there's just no way for me to tell, sorry.<br />
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Expert number 1: It's definitely a girl. I can tell.<br />
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Expert number 2: It's a boy. Definitely. I've never been wrong.<br />
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And then there are the just plain hilarious comments....<br />
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1) "So sorry but I have to ask. IS that a bump? Only I can't work out if you've just had a big lunch and I won't be able to stop staring until you've told me." From a teacher that I met for 2 minutes before I presented a certificate in assembly and left.<br />
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2) "Oh Rebecca <i>is </i>pregnant? I did notice but I didn't like to say anything because I know she likes a creme egg...."<br />
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3) "Ooh you <i>are </i>pregnant? I thought I saw a bump the other day but then I thought maybe you'd just put on a few pounds. I didn't want to upset you so I didn't say anything." Great job.<br />
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4) "You're pregnant? Yeah I thought so. You've been looking a bit bloated lately."<br />
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5) "Oh that makes so much sense. I thought you'd just eaten too many carbs."<br />
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6) "I know exactly how you feel. I've done it three times." That's really sweet, Man In Sainsbury's, but don't let your wife hear you claim that if you don't want a sharp object shoved somewhere intimate.<br />
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Whilst I text these ridiculous conversations to my mum and best pals, roll my inside eyes and learn to let it all roll over me like water off a duck's back (best piece of advice I've been given so far was from Minnie Mouse to use pregnancy to practise ignoring people because- I'm assured- they'll all be a million times worse once the baby is here), I have also been absolutely blown away by how kind people are.<br />
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I've been inundated with endless thoughtful gifts from everyone from my friends to my colleagues, the tutors I manage to the families I work with, Dale's friends to members of our own families. Strangers make sure I get a seat and will go without if it means I'm comfortable, everyone asks how I am with a little head tilt and genuine care in their eyes, and I cannot tell you how well a 'you look lovely' goes down when you feel horrendous. I had a text from a friend after a picture went on Facebook when I was 20 weeks saying 'look at your bump in that picture! You look beautiful.' I could have cried. Probably did, in fact. (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 5: all you need is to tell a pregnant woman she looks nice. Save your pennies. Spend your words wisely.)<br />
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And so with just over 7 weeks to go I will continue to sidestep name questions, duck underneath nonsense comments about my size, take on (and feel free to ignore) everyone's well meaning advice, and enjoy this incredibly magical time with Dale.<br />
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I mentioned in the post about our engagement that every day felt a bit like Christmas Eve- knowing the best was yet to come, and actually being pregnant is exactly the same. Before every amazing thing that I have been lucky enough to experience I've had doubts that it will ever really happen. Just before I moved to Florida I remember thinking: I know I will one day be jealous of this version of myself- of the girl who is about to go and have the time of her life. Just enjoy the anticipation, and know that wonderful things are about to happen.<br />
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I keep reminding myself of the same thing.<br />
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Yes, it's hard, with the comments and the exhaustion and the worry and still working full time and getting everything ready, and the <i>ridiculous </i>cravings for Bold 2 in 1 Lavender and Camomile washing tablets, and yes, the baby being born is only going to introduce a load of new challenges that I hope to one day have the energy to write about.<br />
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But ultimately this special time is so short, as will the next adventure be, and before we know it we'll be facing a load of new challenges as we pack our little cherub off to school.<br />
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So I'm doing my absolute best to embrace every magical bit of it.<br />
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The bits I'm awake for, anyway.<br />
<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-71118321160331967192017-07-29T15:40:00.002-07:002017-07-30T03:15:07.129-07:00The Pursuit of Happiness At my mum's wedding in April my cousin Katie used my favourite sentence of the year. She looked across at the table beside us and said:<br />
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"My ultimate aim in life is always to be as happy as Auntie Nick's happy friend Joy." </div>
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We all laughed out loud. My mum's friend Joy and her husband Dug have always been the happiest people I know. For as long as I can remember they have filled every room with their joy- their smiles <i>genuinely </i>lighting up every occasion and their laughter always heard. This occasion was no different- it was their table that was laughing the loudest- and it both tickled and warmed me that my cousin had noticed their happiness throughout her life as well. </div>
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I don't get to see Joy and Dug very often now that I'm an adult, but a lot of the things that they said around me when I was little have stayed with me, and I spent the rest of the wedding observing and chatting to them with interest. </div>
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My cousin's aim to be as happy as them was an excellent one, I thought, and I was suddenly fascinated by all that they said. </div>
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I was recently on a training course with work which involved looking at the life mission statements of famously successful people. They ranged from Richard Branson and Oprah to a successful American Headteacher and the founder of a soup company. The idea was that we looked at their ultimate aims in life and completed a series of activities in order to eventually be able to write our own. </div>
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I had a fortunate head start here, as I had been on a different training course when I worked for a different company, which involved selecting one of many, many pictures to reflect what we wanted from life. </div>
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I had selected the 'contentment' picture. That was in 2011 and it's stayed with me ever since.</div>
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So I wrote my mission statement and I won't go into too much detail but, as you can imagine, it involves lots about happiness. </div>
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The conversations I had at my mum's wedding and over the next few days have stayed with me, internalised themselves along with those magical comments that Joy and Dug made around me as a child, and between those observations and observations of others around me during and since that training, I've come up with a few theories that may well be <i>completely </i>wrong as far as Joy and Dug are concerned, but that I have decided I think might be useful in the pursuit of happiness. </div>
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The main thing is- and I truly do hate to sound like a preacher and/or cliche- <i>you have to take responsibility for your own happiness...</i></div>
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1) Let the little annoying things go.<br />
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There seems to be a real culture of blaming everybody else for everything- as though every single move that every other person makes should be with your happiness in mind. </div>
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Now I am- as I hope those who know me will already know- such an advocate of spreading the joy and taking action to bring happiness to those around you.</div>
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But I am also very much an advocate of making your own happiness. </div>
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I'm not sure if this is the way the world has always been or whether it's a recent thing- I actually think the internet has a lot to do with the totally unjustified sense of entitlement everyone seems to have but perhaps that's a point to make another time. </div>
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I recently heard a lady<i> genuinely </i>complaining to Sainsbury's customer service because the man who was filling the fruit crates up 'wasn't smiling.' </div>
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<i>Yes </i>he was at work and perhaps that lady would have appreciated a grin flashed her way. <i>But for goodness sake. </i>Even when people are at work they are human beings. Perhaps he'd had bad news. Perhaps he had a tummy ache. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he was thinking about what he was going to have for lunch and was so deep in thought he forgot to smile at every single one of the hundreds of shoppers that would have passed by him that day. <i>Perhaps his job is not to bring you joy on your Thursday morning shop, but to make sure the fruit crates are full. </i></div>
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A few days later I popped to the bank on Chelmsford City High Street at 11am on a Saturday. </div>
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Guess what? </div>
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It was busy. </div>
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Do you know whose fault it was? </div>
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<i>Nobody's. </i></div>
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It's just the way of the world. Banks are busy on a Saturday morning because it's when the working folk of Chelmsford do their banking. </div>
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Despite that, there was a man who stood behind me for no more than ten minutes before he was served, complaining. Loudly. For the first seven minutes he was moaning noisily to his wife- in front of his daughter who is learning how to behave from her parents, which is reassuring- that it was 'a bloody joke', 'absolutely ridiculous', he was going to 'move banks after this wait.' I'll let you pop in some particularly foul language wherever you think it might make sense. In fact, to imagine exactly what he was saying, pop some foul language in places it <i>doesn't </i>make sense, then you'll have a clear idea of what we were all listening to. </div>
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For the final three minutes he stood in the middle of the bank declaring- so that <i>absolutely </i>everybody could hear- that he was leaving Natwest because it was such a joke and taking his banking business elsewhere. </div>
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Firstly- if he thought that was anything but a relief for those members of staff who had to deal with him then he's even more naive than he originally seemed, and secondly- I wish him lots of luck finding a bank in a city centre <i>without </i>a ten minute wait on a Saturday morning. </div>
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I'm not saying I'm immune to this, by the way. Just that I've noticed it's a concerning trait in society and something I'm working on not being a part of. A few weeks ago I went for a blood test at 7am (yes, it was just as fun as it sounds) and the lady who took my blood was grumpy to say the least. She said a maximum of four words to me in the time that I was there, just giving one word commands and raising her eyebrows at me. </div>
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I started to voice this to Dale and then heard myself back and rolled my eyes. "I suppose it's not exactly her job to bring me happiness is it? Her job was to take my blood and she did that brilliantly. Barely a mark there now." </div>
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"Yep," Dale nodded, "she's at work taking people's blood at seven am. I think we can forgive her for being less than cheerful." </div>
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He's right. We can. </div>
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There are parts of life and of people that can be frustrating but I don't think the answer is always to solve it. Sometimes the answer might be to just let it go.<br />
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2) Try to understand another point of view. If you can't see it, have faith that it's there.<br />
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I could probably write a novel on this topic alone: Being Offended. </div>
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Honestly, you can barely order a coffee without offending someone. It's a minefield! But I think that the truth is that in the real world- i.e. not on the internet where people actually choose to spend their time offending people on purpose- very few people set out intending to upset anyone. I think that what people say tends to be a reflection of their own experiences/thoughts/that moment and very little to do with you. </div>
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How often have you walked away and thought '<i>why </i>did I say that? What an idiot!' Chances are others do that a lot as well. </div>
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I've been keeping track of the ridiculous things that people have said to me in pregnancy. I am going to write a blog post on them at some point. I tell them to Dale, and to Jiminy Cricket and my mum. </div>
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Then the other day I saw a video that another pregnant woman had made about the comments you get during pregnancy, and people were commenting funny things that have been said to them. Then somebody commented 'oh stop taking offence at <i>everything, </i>people have good intentions when they say these things.'</div>
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At which point I was mortified. </div>
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<i>Of course </i>they have good intentions. With one genuinely nasty exception I haven't taken offence at any of the comments I've had! They're funny. It's fun to laugh at human nature. Humans are fascinating creatures and great joy can be derived from observing and commenting on them. The majority of successful stand up comedians are commenting on human nature. They're not <i>offended </i>by it, but they've observed it and are discussing it and it's funny. </div>
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All of the comments that I've had I imagine are either a) the things that they wanted to be said when they were pregnant/imagine they would want to be said if they were pregnant or b) nonsense that comes out because they feel that they should probably make some comment about the fact that I'm pregnant but aren't really sure what to say. </div>
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I can't imagine that any of them thought 'what can I say to upset Rebecca?' or 'I'm going to tell Rebecca what I truly think of her size today, she needs to know'. Of course not, they're humans with their own lives to think about and their comments to me are just fillers. It just so happens that my days are filled with fillers now because everyone feels they need to say something about the bump, and so I have a little collection of hilarious comments that have been made. </div>
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In the same way that people have different opinions from me have those different opinions because they have led different lives, have different view points and different priorities. </div>
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The day after mum's wedding I found myself speaking to Dug about a bird sanctuary. He was explaining that one person had been tirelessly fighting for the birds to be fed more expensive, organic food. It would stop them from pecking each other so much, and calm them down throughout the day so that they would have a better quality of life. </div>
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When he explained it like that I totally agreed with him. That's exactly how it should be, I said. </div>
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But then he said that the other person involved had been tirelessly fighting back because this food is <i>so </i>much more expensive that if they were to provide that they would have to house fewer birds. They'd have to get rid of some of the birds, and not be able to save any more. And so the balance was that they were fed this food that provided them with what they absolutely needed but was affordable enough, and were thus able to save more wildlife. </div>
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This is a genuine story he was telling me, but what an excellent fable to remind us that the people who disagree with us have their own reasons, and that there might be an excellent reason that we can't see behind somebody's seemingly wrong or even evil decision. </div>
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I spoke to Dug about a few similar scenarios- he also told me stories about people being angry, upset and offended <i>by him </i>(primarily at work). Between these conversations I came to the conclusion that he and Joy remain happy through their ability to understand and remember that everybody has their own reasons for their decisions, and also to remember that just because somebody is angry, upset or offended doesn't make them right. Plenty of people are angry, upset and offended when they really shouldn't be, and the person who has angered, upset or offended them shouldn't necessarily feel any sense of responsibility at all.<br />
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That's the part I'm working on now.<br />
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3) Turning the little things into big, heartwarming things.<br />
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Observe people. Take great joy in eating. Find the silly. Appreciate everything that everyone does for you that <i>is </i>kind. I am blown away by one kind thing that I witness <i>every day</i>, whether it's my friends offering to drive all the way home behind me so that they can empty my car and save me heavy lifting when I get home, or a seven year old girl bringing me a Maoam in the office and telling me it's because I've 'been working so hard.' I hold onto those moments and won't forget them for a long time. </div>
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And so I will continue to strive to make my own happiness- by letting the little negative things go (car parked too close to mine, man not smiling putting his fruit out, receptionists being grumpy), turning the little positive things into big, heartwarming things (a kid saying he didn't go abroad, he just went to America, having a Dairy Milk with lunch, getting a video of my best friend's baby saying cheese cake) and, of course, by both spreading the joy to others and forgiving myself and others for not being a perfect human in every situation. </div>
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And I'm good at being happy, I like to think. I'm definitely able to turn the little positive things into big heart warming things (I am particularly talented at taking pure happiness from my lunch), I'm improving at letting the little annoying things go, and am very much working on not automatically blaming myself and tearing myself apart over every second of everybody else's happiness. </div>
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And I'm happy. Of course I am. </div>
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I just hope I can take all of these observations and be as happy as Auntie Nick's friend Joy. And, of course, my cousin Katie. </div>
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-28546211410934758092017-06-24T14:06:00.000-07:002017-06-24T14:50:02.601-07:00After Twenty Four Years of Planning....I get married in two days.<br />
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Tonight is the last night before the night before my wedding.<br />
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I imagine that most of you who have had a wedding will have found that you have very little time alone in the weeks leading up to The Big Day. When I haven't been at work I've been in meetings with various people, and when I haven't been doing that I've been with Dale/my cousins/my brothers/my parents/my grandparents planning and organising.<br />
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Today we had brunch with Dale's dad who has come to visit from abroad for the wedding, met my Grandma and Mum for last minute shopping, headed straight for a spray tan and then back home where my Dad, his girlfriend, her son, Chip, Dale and I finished off the last of the favours whilst discussing the last final details of the day.<br />
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And then they left.<br />
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Dad, his girlfriend and her son went home. Chip went to the gym. Dale went out for dinner with his dad.<br />
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And I was left alone.<br />
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For the first time in what feels like weeks.<br />
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The sudden silence was too loud for me, so I put Pitch Battle on (fantastic Saturday night background tv, by the way), where I was almost immediately greeted with our First Dance song.<br />
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And finally, after what Dale thinks has been seven months but has actually been around twenty four years of planning my wedding, I felt overwhelmed.<br />
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Not with stress. Not with the ridiculousness of how many times seating plans need redoing, not with the outrageous prices provided at the word 'wedding', or the difficulty of being asked the question 'which flowers do you want in your buttonholes?' (Absolutely no idea about flowers. As I demonstrated with the florist when I commented that the plant on her table smelt incredible and asked what it was, only for her to tell me that they were unscented, artificial flowers.)<br />
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Instead I was overwhelmed with the fact that this is really happening.<br />
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I haven't always wanted a big wedding. We're not particularly having a big wedding. It's going to be a relaxed family affair- one flower girl, no best man, no hats, no hen/stag events, no videographer. I would have been happy popping to Orlando and doing it in a strappy summer dress.<br />
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But I've always wanted to get married.<br />
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And more than anything- I've always wanted to <i>plan</i> a wedding.<br />
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Not even necessarily mine. Anyone's.<br />
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When I was a kid I used to tell everyone that I was going to be a wedding planner when I grew up. It was <i>always </i>assumed- to my absolute horror- that it was because of the Jennifer Lopez film.<br />
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It wasn't.<br />
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It was because of the film <i>Father of the Bride. </i>It was and continues to be one of my absolute favourite films, and I know it almost word for word. I watched it on the plane on the way home from the holiday that we got engaged on, and I will be putting it on again as soon as <i>Pitch Battle </i>finishes.<br />
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And I cannot believe that it's finally me.<br />
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I'm Annie. Granted I'm six years older than Annie and not living in my parents' mansion in LA. But that, ladies and gents, is where the differences end.<br />
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Tonight, when everything finally went quiet and I had a rare few minutes to reflect, a few things suddenly hit me....<br />
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1) I am no longer going to be Rebecca Ann Lund.<br />
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Obvious right?<br />
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Not really.<br />
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I knew I was going to change my name when I got married, but it's seemed so far away for so long. Then this evening I was filling in the form for my spray tan and realised it was the last time I'll circle the 'Miss' option, the last time I'll fill in that last box with 'Lund'. My brothers are Lund. As is my Dad. My Grandad, my auntie and uncle. My blog is Lund. My degree. My name tag. My Boots loyalty card. Twenty eight years, twenty seven days, four hours, twenty nine minutes of my life as Miss Rebecca Ann Lund.<br />
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And suddenly it won't be me anymore?<br />
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I voiced this to my dad's girlfriend, who lightened the mood by replying 'and will you be changing your Facebook name as you walk back up the aisle or will you be leaving it until after photos?'<br />
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This is why I'm pals with her.<br />
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2) My parents could rule the world.<br />
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Seriously. I am, as I am frequently told, fiercely independent. Which means that whilst I will regularly call my Mum and ask her opinion on topics as wide ranging as 'what shall I have for lunch?' to 'what shall we name our baby?' and will quite often call my dad to rant about something stupid that happened during my day so that he can also be outraged on my behalf, it's quite rare that I actually ask them to take any action for me.<br />
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I wouldn't have done during wedding planning, had I not put a Facebook status declaring that I had asked all of the sources I had at my disposal and couldn't seem to organise a microphone and speaker for the singer, and asking whether anyone would be able to help. People had started to comment when my Dad- who is in no way a singer or DJ and who it had not even crossed my mind to ask- commented 'I'll sort it', closely followed by 'sorted it.'<br />
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Bit embarrassing.<br />
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Similarly, every problem I've mentioned in passing in front of my mum, she's managed to fix. She bought my wedding planning book, she's providing baskets, a postbox, and jewellery, suggested the venue for me, she came to the first viewing and the final meeting, has solved guest list/table plan conundrums, and knows the best places to buy crafts.<br />
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How lucky I am.<br />
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3) On Monday I am going to be a bride.<br />
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I LOVE seeing a bride. Have done ever since I was old enough to know what a bride was. A friend and I used to take turns in walking down the middle of the lounge to 'Going to the Chapel' holding my mum's artificial flowers when we were about eight. When I lived in Rome I used to drive everyone crazy by gasping, pointing, and jumping up and down in excitement, leading them to think I'd seen a new incredible building only for it to be a bride. And now <i>I </i>get to be one? Seriously? I actually really don't love being the centre of attention (hence the desire for a smaller wedding), but I am so excited to be a bride.<br />
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4) I seriously have the best people around me.<br />
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My parents, grandparents, best friends, brothers, cousins (especially cousins, actually) aunties, uncles, Hayley (who I regularly refer to just as My Hayley as she isn't actually related but may as well be), colleagues, parents from work, and even friends on Facebook who I haven't seen for years have all been INCREDIBLE in helping my dreams come true and I am blown away by the efforts some people will go to for other humans every day.<br />
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5) Most importantly of all...<br />
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On Monday I am going to become a wife.<br />
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Earlier on my Dad's girlfriend said 'you're going to have a husband!'<br />
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For just a second I felt really, really grown up. I am going to have a husband. I'm going to be wearing two rings on my left hand, and I'm going to be able to say 'my husband,' and soon after that 'our baby.'<br />
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Then I looked across the room and remembered I'm marrying Dale.<br />
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'My husband' sounds ever so grown up and serious.<br />
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Dale was playing <i>Cotton Eyed Joe </i>for my Dad telling him he's going to organise for that to be played as we walk back up the aisle instead of the song I painstakingly chose that means a lot to us.<br />
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I had a flash back to the excitement on his face when he pulled out the blow up electric guitar he had bought and jumped around the living room with last week.<br />
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Remembered that when I was only eight weeks pregnant and telling him we mustn't get too excited, he was looking at nappies, suggesting names, and asking if it was too soon to be buying the baby a bubble gun.<br />
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Thought of the time we spent Christmas in Disney and he was jumping on the bed on Christmas Eve in excitement.<br />
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Realised that agreeing to spend the rest of my life with this guy is not as huge and grown up as it seems.<br />
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It's what was always meant to happen, and what I knew I would one day do on the day I met him.<br />
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Suddenly leaving behind my name doesn't seem so serious, and instead it seems that the absolute honour, joy and excitement that comes with selecting that 'Mrs' box and typing in his last name will never wear off.<br />
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So I will blink away the overwhelmed tears before they drip down my face and wreck my spray tan, put <i>Father of the Bride </i>on, and practise walking down the aisle in my lounge one last time. Planning this wedding has been every bit as magical and exciting as I thought it would be, now I only hope the day is just as wonderful. And I <i>know </i>that the rest of my life as Mrs Stark will live up to expectations.<br />
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I do :)<br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-46586649371779299532017-05-29T16:02:00.000-07:002017-05-29T16:09:04.875-07:00The National Curriculum of Social EtiquetteI've read and heard a lot of comments from adults saying that they wish that at school instead of algebra and Pythagoras, they had been taught life skills such as budgeting and working out taxes.<br />
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I don't particularly wish that I had been taught budgeting and working out taxes, I've managed to navigate those on my own. </div>
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There are, however, plenty of things I wish I had been taught. In fact, the further into my twenties I get, the longer my list becomes. Because my list is not made up of finance lessons, but of social etiquette classes. </div>
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I really believe that social etiquette classes should become essential around the age of twenty five; the age that I, at least, was suddenly presented with a whole host of new social situations that I had no idea how to handle. </div>
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So I, ladies and gents, have put together my own Social Etiquette Curriculum. If anyone is available to teach me classes on any of the following, please let me know...</div>
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1) The bride and groom have requested money for their honeymoon in their invitation. How much do I give them? </div>
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I've asked so many people about this, and nobody seems to have a clear answer. It needs to be at least twenty, right? But then thirty also seems reasonable. But then thirty is quite a lot. Twenty five? Is it different for an evening guest? A family member? If I'm a bridesmaid? </div>
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My wedding season began in September 2011 and hasn't <i>really </i>stopped since. I've been a bridesmaid, a reader, a day guest, an evening guest, a family member, a best friend, an old friend, a family friend, the friend of a family member, and the family member of a friend, and I still don't know. </div>
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Help me. Please. </div>
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2) Someone has just done something far kinder for me than our relationship really calls for. Do I accept? How do I ever thank them? </div>
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This actually happens to me quite a lot- I have a lot of ridiculously nice people around me. As I was typing that last sentence I received a text from Dale saying that his sister has just done something so kind and thoughtful for us that again, I'm not sure how we will ever thank her. </div>
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The example I was thinking of though- that I regularly cringe at- was when I told one of the mums at work that I loved her nail varnish and she said I could have it and she would bring it in for me. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times and actually couldn't tell you what came out in the end because I just had no idea what to say. Should I have just said thanks, I look forward to it? Objected and said just telling me where she got it from would be enough? </div>
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I think the reason I'm often so awkward in these situations is if it's so unnecessarily kind I fear I may have misheard. </div>
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Imagine if I had said 'ooh yes please, that's so kind of you to offer to bring in your nail varnish for me to keep' and she had to say 'oh no, I was just saying it's from Avon and it's called hot pink.' Or worse, then felt she had to give it to me even though that's not what she'd said at all. </div>
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Similarly when people do really lovely things for me I always feel like I have to do something really lovely for them, but then sometimes that would be weird. Like one of the dads at work once bought a coffee for every single member of the team that was in that day just because. It would be so strange if I just bought him a coffee. Or anything in return really. But then how do I make him realise how much that meant to us, and that none of us will ever forget that kind gesture? </div>
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I try my best to be as kind as that, and to do things in turn for others who I think would appreciate it, but that doesn't make me any less awkward at accepting kind gestures.</div>
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As I said above, I'm surrounded by lots of outrageously kind people so this happens a lot. Any thoughts? </div>
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3) I've just realised that I've put my foot in it. Do I acknowledge it, try backtracking, or just completely ignore it? </div>
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Obviously what would be <i>really </i>great would be a lesson in how not to put my foot in it. But a far more realistic fix would be how to deal with it once I've realised what I've done. I've just been going on and on and on about how much I dislike the name Talia. That I think it's a stupid, ridiculous name and have no idea why anyone would do that to their child. (NB: I've purposely chosen Talia because everyone knows it's actually my favourite name. I mostly manage to avoid offending people when I'm writing because I have time to think. Mostly.) I've just got to the end of my rant and realised that the person I'm talking to is, in fact, Talia. She shortens it to Tilly so I had forgotten. </div>
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Do I tell her I've just realised and I'm so, so sorry? Do I backtrack and say, of <i>course, </i>it's beautiful if you're blonde, and tall, live in Chelmsford, have a sister called Holly, work in a bank....other completely unrelated things about this particular Talia....</div>
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Do I just leave a horrible silence whilst we both think about what I just said? Or speak frantically about a totally different subject. "Anyway, tell me about your new haircut, ever so lovely..." </div>
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4) What I've just said hasn't gone down the way I thought it would. How do I save it? </div>
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I was actually on the other end of this recently. A poor lady commented on how teeny, tiny I looked. I think she was trying to compliment me. I have a personal dislike of people commenting on my size anyway (such a strange thing to comment on I think, but maybe that's because I'm socially awkward), and what she didn't know was that I was twelve weeks pregnant and had been sick every day for eight of them and was actually acutely aware of my weight, and slightly concerned about my baby for it. What she also didn't know was that it felt to me like she was eight hundredth person to comment on my size that week, and I had used up all of my polite responses and said 'well I haven't lost any weight' in a manner most unlike me. Fortunately this lady, unlike me, is a queen of social etiquette and didn't miss a beat. She smiled serenely and came back with a perfect response that immediately calmed me. </div>
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A few days later I was on the other side of it, and had accidentally said something that didn't go down the way I thought it would. I like to think that I also replied with a smooth, calm reaction and fixed the situation, and was temporarily proud of myself. But then I spent the rest of the day cringing that I had said the wrong thing in the first place.</div>
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So really, my question is not so much how do I save the conversation, but how do I save myself from worrying about it forevermore? And does everyone do that all the time? </div>
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5) I'm going to a friend's house for a lunch/dinner/barbecue/gathering. I've offered to take something (right at the last minute because I am the absolute worst at planning and don't think about anything until I'm doing it) and they say no thank you. Do I still take something? </div>
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Really I suppose my question is: is there a trick to knowing when someone is being polite and when they actually mean what they're saying? </div>
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How am I supposed to know if she <i>really </i>doesn't mind what restaurant we go to or if she's just too polite to say? How do I know if he <i>really </i>doesn't want a coffee or is just worried about me spending my money? </div>
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And are you always meant to take something to someone's house? Where does it end? Dinner? Barbecue? Coffee? Dropping in a birthday card? </div>
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Also <i>what </i>are you supposed to take? Flowers? Box of chocolates? Wine? Is there a rule for which gift for which situation? </div>
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<i>Who is meant to teach me this? How do other adults know? </i></div>
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6) What makes a good house warming gift? </div>
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I don't think I have ever bought anyone a good house warming gift. When we moved in we got some gorgeous gifts- but I was so open with our colour scheme and I am so easy going that I think I'm quite easy to buy for. But how am I supposed to buy a house warming gift for someone who has very specific taste but rarely talks about their home decor choices? </div>
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It's so hard. Help me. </div>
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7) My friend's had a baby. How often do I call/text/turn up? </div>
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When someone's had a baby I take it completely for granted that everyone that they have ever met will want to see them. Perhaps because I love babies, or because I have a close family, or because most people I know love babies. So I just assume they'll be inundated with guests and won't need me getting in the way. And they won't want to be bombarded with messages from me when they're getting used to the madness of parenthood and dealing with all these visitors and getting over childbirth. So I'll pop in when invited but will otherwise leave them to it. </div>
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But then I read something recently about new parents feeling let down and lonely when their friends don't call/text/turn up. </div>
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But surely doing it all the time is just as much of a pain? </div>
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Adulthood is a minefield, seriously. </div>
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When am I supposed to learn this stuff, and who is supposed to teach me? </div>
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I could actually write an entire novel on this topic. I haven't even got started on eating meat when your friends have forgotten you're vegetarian, talking comfortably about death and illness, how to deal with having a serious dislike of your friend's boyfriend, or what to do when you realise you haven't been listening and your pal is waiting for a response. So for the moment, I will continue trying to Do The Right Thing and Not Make A Complete Idiot of Myself, and will use all my ridiculous mistakes as writing material. But as soon as you start offering social etiquette lessons- sign me up. </div>
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-8289626072204253042017-02-11T12:38:00.001-08:002017-02-11T12:52:35.179-08:00There's A Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For those of you who weren't already aware, I'm getting married this year. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Within days of getting engaged I had made two promises to Dale's sister. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I promised that I would a) not become obsessed with my wedding and talk about nothing else and b) never deny myself anything delicious in pursuit of The Dream Dress. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With the exception of my long-suffering work colleagues who, before the engagement had to put up with my non-stop talking about Dale, our flat, and Disney World anyway, I think most people would agree that I am doing a fine job of sticking to my promises. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Just to be clear, they are top witnesses to the fact that I have not started denying myself anything delicious- although I really do need to face the fact that it's not Christmas anymore and we don't need cupcakes <i>every </i>day. But they would probably argue that I could talk about the wedding less. Sorry ladies.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Anyway, for one day only I'm going to officially break promise A and tell you aaall about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(That was a warning. If you don't want to know, close this down and maybe do a <i>Friends </i>quiz? Or is it just me whose news feed is <i>over run </i>with <i>Friends </i>quizzes right now?) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">SO first things first. </span><br />
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<u><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Proposal</span></b></u><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I won't bore you with the details that I bored my Mum with, but here are the key highlights...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dale and I have always disagreed on our anniversary. By quite a lot. In that I say it's 14th August and Dale says it's 5th November. (Yep. A lot.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Which is why despite arriving in Orlando on 28th October, Dale decided to wait until 5th November to propose. How he waited that long with the ring sitting in his suitcase I do not know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every Walt Disney World resort hotel shows a Disney Movie Under the Stars every night, and on our first date in mid 2013, Dale and I watched Up under the stars at Disney's Port Orleans Resort Hotel. We laid on a blanket outside and talked all the way through the film, eating a picnic and swapping life stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was every bit as magical as it sounds. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On 5th November 2016 at 11am Dale and I popped into the Port Orleans resort to get a drink and look at how pretty it is. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSzxbMbTxmSLlDHFdmewY5nlgr5PsyFUAQ1LJ5gG3gxgcjQClmLu9511vpd4sZe5LokslO4A-DHWERjeTQFfgybdRlPlMSPFe9T-MPSLDfBpv2PlvKeRQ9fzfYiE5qfTuX9LLNG9ToItJ/s1600/Port+Orleans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSzxbMbTxmSLlDHFdmewY5nlgr5PsyFUAQ1LJ5gG3gxgcjQClmLu9511vpd4sZe5LokslO4A-DHWERjeTQFfgybdRlPlMSPFe9T-MPSLDfBpv2PlvKeRQ9fzfYiE5qfTuX9LLNG9ToItJ/s320/Port+Orleans.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It never gets old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As we walked past the spot of our first date, Dale pointed out that there was a big, Princess chair and asked if I wanted a photo in it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I got a soaking wet butt, not realising that the chair was still drenched from the previous night's rain, jumped up, checked how obvious it was (really obvious) and turned back to find Dale holding a ring and asking me the most important question I will ever be asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will never stop being impressed that he managed to find somewhere in Walt Disney World that was not only hugely special to us in a way that it probably isn't to many other people, but was also deserted so that we felt like the only two people in the world for the big moment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was then immediately whisked away to Animal Kingdom to see my favourite show in the entire world (The Lion King show) in VIP seats, before going to meet the cast. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the time I turned the corner to see the whole cast there waiting for us, having still not had a chance to tell anyone we were now engaged, I was totally speechless and, I'm fairly sure, left them thinking that I couldn't speak English.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4P2LxQp1-FkWkbRL35mHRUJ7aO2uJYoudHuw_CrlzgwStr3UVvRinGcAo5oWYAF0WjafRcRP7znYIslbDHu7bYX-CjiRgHwjIkdyyb-8m1Khg9LHC_Ic7_fe954JlcVAv8ke8P_eLdLn/s1600/LK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4P2LxQp1-FkWkbRL35mHRUJ7aO2uJYoudHuw_CrlzgwStr3UVvRinGcAo5oWYAF0WjafRcRP7znYIslbDHu7bYX-CjiRgHwjIkdyyb-8m1Khg9LHC_Ic7_fe954JlcVAv8ke8P_eLdLn/s320/LK.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was whisked from there to my favourite restaurant in Disney World (and the real world, in fact), Be Our Guest, and then to watch The Festival of Fantasy, the <i>most </i>magical parade, and then to meet the main man- Mickey Mouse- who was, of course, <i>delighted </i>at the news. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">From there, Dale took me back to our hotel and told me to pack my bags, we were going on vacation from our vacation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To my <i>favourite </i>resort. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yacht Club. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yacht Club is my favourite resort for many, many reasons. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the main one is that when I stayed there for the first time there was a painting of a lady who looked <i>incredibly </i>like Dale. Seriously, it's uncanny. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So you can imagine my <i>absolute delight </i>when I walked into our breathtaking room to find <i>this </i>on the wall: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Uncanny. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Potentially the best part of the day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was then whisked off to VIP seats for my favourite evening spectacular, Fantasmic, in Hollywood Studios, before whizzing over to Epcot for what is always my dinner of choice, from the French Pavillion. We took it to go and ate it on the balcony of our hotel room as we watched Illuminations, the Epcot fireworks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was the first time either of us had done all four Disney parks in one day, and it was the best day of our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It will take a <i>lot </i>for the wedding to beat it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Which brings us seamlessly to...</span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wedding Planning</span></u></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We were ever so good and vowed not to discuss the wedding until we got home, despite having agreed long before we got engaged that we both wanted a short engagement. (By which I mean I wanted a short engagement and Dale said okay.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I like to think I knew more or less what to expect when it comes to wedding planning. I'm the last of all my close friends to get married, and although I didn't have a huge involvement in planning their weddings I did lend an ear when chair cover and invitation thickness decisions got too much, and I have <i>attended </i>more weddings than I could count on my fingers and toes, so I know more or less what weddings involve, and also what I do and don't like. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'll not go into too much detail about what I do and don't like as I want some things to remain a surprise for the day, but here are the top things I've learnt planning my wedding...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1) Being Fearless has never been more important.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What a super time for me to have made that my new resolution. People are <i>brutal </i>when it comes to expressing their opinions on both your wedding and the weddings of others, and if you listen to them, you'll end up doing a lot of your breathing into paper bags and taking up daily drinking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Honestly </i>it has shocked me how many people have felt the need to tell me everything they didn't like about all the weddings they've been to. What if I've already organised that? That lesson has actually really helped me with my promise to my new sister-in-law not to talk about it too much, because I really don't want to talk about it. I don't want any more opinions, thank you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Compiling the guest list is also a brutal task for a sensitive soul like me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Between us we have <i>so many </i>friends, if we invited everyone we love we would have a crowd to rival William and Kate, and as relatively shy people, we would both rather stick pins in our eyes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So it's a family affair for us, but it's surprising (and mortifyingly awkward) how many people openly say that they expect to be invited. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I <i>really </i>hope that everyone finds this and we're not the worst people in the world for feeling this way, but we have had to be fearless with the guest list. Dale jokes that if it were up to me we'd be inviting the lady from the Post Office and asking guests to let us know when and where would be most convenient for them, and he's not far off the truth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2) It does not need to be as stressful as Facebook tells you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Seriously. Ever since the second we put our engagement on Facebook we have both found our news feeds filled with blogs, articles, videos, and lists of reasons telling us how and why getting married is the most stressful thing you can do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One article told me we need to put aside at least <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">£27, 000 (if I had that much money to spare it would absolutely not be going on a day). I've read so much about the stress of choosing the right dress (bought the first one I tried on), choosing the right venue (booked the first one we saw), and choosing a theme (a no brainer for us). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I have managed to find a human being, among all of the human beings in the whole world, that I like enough to promise to spend the <i>rest of my life with, </i>and he wants to promise to spend the rest of his life with me too! Surely I've done the seemingly impossible bit?! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We started planning this wedding in December and finished planning it in January. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It's been nothing but fun. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">3) There's one thing nobody ever tells you. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Don't worry though chaps, I'm going to share it with you now. You think you know everything. You know about the dress, the flowers, the vows, the entertainment, the little touches. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">What nobody tells you is that if you get married in a registry office, there's a </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">£50 charge. If you get married in a venue, there's a </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">£525 charge for the registrar, plus a </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">£70 appointment beforehand.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It's daylight robbery! Why does nobody ever warn you about this? NONE of the Facebook warnings included this. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">You have all now been warned. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">4) Getting engaged brings you closer to everyone you've ever met. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It's been amazing how many people have been excited about our engagement, have wanted to hear about the wedding, and hugged and kissed me in congratulations. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It means I've had special days out with my best friends and my mum that I wouldn't have otherwise had, and everyone suddenly has something to say to me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My favourite thing about every wedding I have ever been to has been getting to know the families of my friends and their new spouses. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My favourite thing about our wedding is all my favourite people getting to know each other. Doing the table plans has been an absolute joy for that reason. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">5) Say Yes to the Dress is the best thing since Reese's peanut buttercups. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Seriously. </i>You get the expert help and undivided attention of an absolutely amazing professional with years and years of experience, they're incredibly kind to you, give you champagne and lunch, and I certainly ended up choosing a dress I would never have chosen for myself. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I do not understand why you wouldn't do it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">If you're yet to get your dress, I cannot recommend it enough. Even if you don't end up getting a dress I had the best day with my mum and my friends. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Of course, the absolute best thing about being engaged is the excitement. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Since the day we got engaged I've found myself overwhelmed with the need to tell Dale that I just can't wait to be his wife every single day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I think that out of all of the traditional milestones, being engaged has to be the best one. You're in a wonderful position and you know that all the best bits are yet to come. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Like Christmas Eve, but for seven months. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">When I was away and all my friends were getting engaged I used to feel a little rush of excitement that I had all that to look forward to still. I like to think that I'll feel an equal warm rush of nostalgia every time I look back. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Okay it's out. It's off my chest. This is my experience of being engaged. I'm getting married in four and a half months!</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Promise I won't mention it again until 26th June, and I assure you I will continue to eat all my favourite things throughout the engagement and beyond. </span></span>Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-66130319295964943752016-12-21T16:13:00.002-08:002016-12-22T03:11:42.879-08:00FearlessAlmost every day I have the same conversation with frustrated parents. <br />
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<em>We know she can do it. She holds herself back. If she just believed in herself she could go so much further. </em><br />
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And I sympathise. Genuinely. Because I also have total faith that their daughter has more ability than she's showing but is being held back by some innate fear. <br />
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That's where my job comes in. The company I work for spends its days building children's confidence to Become Fearless. To be able to enter the world as adults with absolute faith in themselves to be successful, to make their own dreams come true, to ensure that no doors shut in their faces and that- above all else- they are not held back by themselves. <br />
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Then this week somebody said the same thing to me about a famous sportsperson. That they had read that his own mind holds him back because he's crippled with self doubt. <br />
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And again I nodded along, sharing their frustration that fears and doubts could hold somebody so talented back from their full potential. <br />
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Then Dale and I went to see Moana.<br />
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Before the film started there was a Disney Animated Short. A short film. <br />
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It was, in my humble opinion, the best they've ever done. <br />
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I'll not give too much away but the basic premise is that a man sees the potential negative consequences of <em>everything, </em>and therefore does nothing. Out of fear. <br />
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About half way through, Dale leant across and whispered 'it's you.' <br />
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I tipped my head to the side, taking it in. <br />
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To my absolute horror, I realised he was right. <br />
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Now I like to think I've done a lot of fairly brave things. <br />
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Not earth shattering things, but things that certainly changed up my world and took confidence as a result. <br />
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I was the first in my family and one of the only people in my group of friends to go to university, for example. I was therefore the first to move out. And I did it totally alone. <br />
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I went to Italy alone aged twenty to live with a family I had never met. <br />
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I once left my job, broke up with my boyfriend, sold my car and moved to France. <br />
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I worked as a live in nanny- packing my bags and moving in with people I had only spent an hour with (or in a couple of cases only spoken to on the phone). <br />
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The thought of the interview for my current and previous jobs were so daunting I almost called and cancelled about an hour before I was due to be there. <br />
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But as I get older, rather than Becoming Fearless, rather than fully understanding that life is too short and ridding myself of these worries, I seem to be becoming more and more fearful. <br />
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And I think a lot of that has to do with 2016. <br />
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I know we can't blame everything on 2016. <br />
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(I'm fairly sure I've heard people in Sainsbury's muttering <em>bloody 2016 </em>because the Christmas queues are long. The Christmas queues in Sainsbury's are always long. Nothing to do with 2016.) <br />
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But seriously this year. <br />
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I normally write one blog post a month. <br />
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I don't write it for any other than reason than I enjoy writing and it's good to keep up the practice. <br />
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I am not, and have never been, intending to go viral. I never intend for these to be for anyone other than my mum, my Grandma, and my best friend Jiminy Cricket. <br />
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But this year one unintentionally went <em>almost </em>viral. (It went viral enough that a friend saw it posted in a group that I had nothing to do with by a person I've never met. But not so viral that <em>Very British Problems </em>and <em>The Lad Bible </em>shared it.) <br />
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Anyway, it resulted in me being sent truly nasty words by people who have never and will never know me. (If I do ever meet them in person, I've got my speech planned. You know, like Charlotte in Sex and the City plans what she would say to Big if she ever saw him again? She does, but that's TV. I'd say the chances of me meeting Shaz off of Facebook in real life are slightly less likely. The chances of me realising it's her, even less so.) <br />
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So I lost my nerve a bit, and missed a few months this year. <br />
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Partly because of those nasty words, partly because of an increased fear of insulting somebody- again, thanks 2016. <br />
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<em>Seriously, </em>isn't it so easy to offend people now?<br />
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I have shoulder length brown hair with little flecks of blonde in the ends, and<em> </em>I'm sure that insults somebody. <br />
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It's got out of control, ladies and gents, and it's putting me on edge all of the time. <br />
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I try my absolute best every day to be the kindest person I can be. <br />
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I put kindness above all else, and I value it so much in other people. <br />
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But now that it's offensive to braid your hair, to be a woman without a child, to post your engagement on social media, to marry a celebrity, to write an honest article about your relationship, to choose to feed your baby in a certain way, to donate to certain charities, to enjoy certain TV shows, to live your own life and concentrate on your own priorities, to be demonstrably sadder about things that have happened to you than about things that have happened to somebody else...I can't keep up!<br />
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I feel criticised, embarrassed, and sorry for something I do almost every day because of this out of control fashion to be offended. <br />
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And it means I write less. I say less. I do less. <br />
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And it's stupid. <br />
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Because of course when I truly think about it I know it's nonsense. I know that life's too short, that you can't please everyone, that there's nowt so queer as folk. <br />
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But it's hard to keep that at the forefront of my mind all the time.<br />
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One friend told me that I need to read less. Stop looking at social media, stop reading articles, just live. <br />
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I did that for six weeks, and it was a simpler, happier time, I'll give you that. <br />
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But when I returned to social media, oh my, I cannot tell you how many people had had babies and got engaged. <br />
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And I love that stuff! I don't want to miss out on wonderful news like that.<br />
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Plus I do have super friends on there who I wouldn't speak to every day without it but who do make me smile all the time. <br />
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One such friend pointed out yesterday that pizza doesn't please everyone, and if pizza doesn't please everyone then how on earth can I expect to? <br />
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Excellent point. <br />
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But again, difficult to keep in mind all the time. <br />
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Chalene Johnson, fitness guru and all round hero, in my eyes, highlighted it when somebody wrote on her account that she found her annoying and that she would be deleting her. <br />
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She highlighted it to make a point that nobody is liked by everybody, and that's okay. She also said that it's good for you to erase the annoying people from your life. So that girl was doing the right thing in deleting her if she found her so annoying. <br />
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Another good point. <br />
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So my question is this: how can I possibly be enthusiastically nodding along with parents in frustration that their child is holding onto their fears, and working tirelessly to communicate to children that letting go of fear is going to catapult them into this incredible new world, when I am holding myself back?<br />
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If I so strongly believe that letting go of fear is what unlocks an even more incredible you, why don't I just do it? <br />
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So that, lovely readers, is my new year resolution. <br />
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I am going to Be Fearless in 2017.<br />
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In everything. <br />
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Work, Home, Life. <br />
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I am going to take a leaf out of the book of the latest Disney Short character (spoiler alert), and stop avoiding what could be wonderful just in case it goes wrong.<br />
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I have total faith that I can do this, and I must do it, to be a truly positive role model to these children I'm trying to inspire, right? <br />
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And what better way to kick it off than with a wedding? <br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-82970593425674305242016-09-11T13:13:00.002-07:002016-09-11T15:03:00.210-07:00Let's Get Together...There's a post flying around social media at the moment that explains what living together as a couple is really like. I won't repeat the entire thing here, but the basic summary is this: living with the one you love isn't falling asleep cuddling and eating breakfast together every day, it's screaming at each other about nothing, being so tired that you fall asleep on separate couches, and crying because they haven't done the washing you reminded them about five times.<br />
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I saw this post approximately two weeks into living with Dale, and frowned at it. Surely if you're not eating together and you do a lot of screaming and crying because of the behaviour of the person you're living with, you shouldn't be living together?<br />
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I voiced this to a few people. Some of them absolutely agreed with me. If you're screaming at each other every day, something is not quite right. Others gave me a patronising smile and told me to just wait.<br />
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We've now lived together for seven months.<br />
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Now that is not a lifetime. So there's still time to be proven wrong.<br />
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But I still say if you're screaming at one another and crying about the washing, perhaps you're not as happy as you could be.<br />
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So I thought I would write my own version of what living together means, now that we're a bit further along the road...<br />
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There are The Parts We Always Imagined...<br />
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1) Cuddles On Tap<br />
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Now if Dale were writing this, perhaps this wouldn't be on his list of great things about living with me. Perhaps it would be on his list of things he just has to put up with. But I'm sure that's only because for some reason he doesn't want to admit how wonderful it is.<br />
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The other day I was with Lady Adelaide and Pumbaa and their husbands, and it was their husbands that were expressing their love of cuddles, and the ladies that were saying that they sometimes need their own space when it's this hot. Not me. I need some peace to write, and space to do my makeup, but I'm never too hot or too busy for cuddles.<br />
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Unlike the couple from the social media post, we do tend to sleep in the same bed rather than separate couches, and we do manage to cuddle rather than screaming at each other.<br />
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2) Breakfast!<br />
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Again, the social media post insisted that instead of breakfast together, it's slanging matches that start the day when you wake up on separate couches in the morning.<br />
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We don't have breakfast together every single day, we don't feed each other pieces of toast, or eat two ends of a pecan plait until our lips meet in the middle, but on a Sunday we normally have eggs on toast in front of the television with the quilt over us. If it's a really special occasion we'll have croissants. And by special occasion I mean the sun's out. Or one of us bought a new pen this week.<br />
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3) Time together<br />
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It might sound obvious, but lots of people told me that when you live together you actually don't spend much more time together than when you were apart because you don't prioritise time together like you did when you could only see each other at weekends.<br />
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We haven't found that.<br />
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We have synced calendars so that we can make sure we've got lazy days planned in, and we normally end up going out together at the weekends in between anyway- mainly because the reason we moved in together in the first place is that we're best friends.<br />
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Before we took the leap I thought that I would miss having all day at work on a Saturday to be really excited to see Dale again at the weekend.<br />
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Turns out now I just spend all day every day excited to see him again tonight.<br />
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There are The Pleasant Surprises...<br />
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1) Opportunities to Be Nice<br />
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A few Sundays ago I woke up and realised that we didn't have any eggs. Dale hopped out of bed like a hero and declared that he would go to Tesco to buy some. Then he realised it was eight thirty on a Sunday and no shops would be open.<br />
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I explained that that was fine. I could wait until ten. At nine forty I announced that I was too hungry to wait. I would have a banana. Once again my hero jumped up, and this time got dressed and went to a Tesco Local so that I wouldn't have to wait any longer.<br />
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Before we lived together Dale was so nice to me, and he does continue to be. But when you live together the opportunities do little nice things for each other increase ten fold, and I like to think Dale and I are excellent at embracing them.<br />
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2) The Little Things<br />
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The silly in jokes, the terrible singing and dancing around the kitchen, the weird eating habits. Getting to know the little things about one another has been one of my favourite things about the past seven months. I hadn't thought there was much for me to learn. How wrong I was.<br />
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3) Keeping my Sanity<br />
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Dale has a No Talking About Work rule in the flat, which has genuinely turned my mental health around. I have a forty minute drive home in which I clear all the cobwebs from a busy day at work, and then have a totally separate life at home. It means that I enjoy my evenings and weekends more, sleep better, and do a lot less worrying.<br />
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And then there are The Parts Everyone Told Us About...<br />
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1) Driving Each Other Crazy<br />
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I'm not talking about screaming and crying at each other because of washing here. I'm talking about him rolling his eyes and telling me I've used up my quota of the word love for this week because it's 8.02am on Monday and I've already told him twenty five times how much I love him. I'm talking about having to open every single window when he hangs up his running shorts over the shower because they smell <i>disgusting. </i>(FYI: one of my favourite things about Dale has always been that he always smells like a combination of Abercrombie and toothpaste. One thing I've learnt in the past seven months is that the only time he doesn't smell like that is after a run. I won't go into too much detail. Use your imagination.) I'm talking about our regular disagreements on what a made bed looks like. He says my standards are unreasonably high. I say if the cushions are still littered all over the bedroom floor, the bed is not made.<br />
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We don't scream about these things. We roll our eyes a lot, make fun of each other a lot, and accept certain irreversible truths.<br />
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2) Knowing Everything<br />
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There's nothing I wish I didn't know about Dale. But there are a lot of things I wish he didn't know about me. What I've discovered about myself since we moved in together is that I kid myself a lot. I make a lot of promises to myself that I don't keep- mostly involving getting up early, eating less sugar, drinking less coffee, and watching less television. Before I lived with Dale I would declare these changes to nobody in particular and then when, three days later, I was curled up watching yet another episode of Friends at ten am with a caramel cupcake, nobody would bat an eyelid and I would have forgotten all about that naive vow that I made. I can no longer get away with that now that somebody actually listens to me.<br />
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3) Seeing Everything<br />
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Having spent the first two and a half years of our relationship going to the effort of tricking Dale into thinking I was a real life princess, I have spent the past seven months proving that I'm closer to one of the strange creatures from Monsters Inc. He now knows that I wake up looking like Anna in Frozen on the day of the coronation. I spend a lot of time in comfy clothes, am always tired and almost always have the symptoms of a cold, take far too much enjoyment in a cup of coffee, spend far too much time reading and am unreasonably worried about the scent of every room.<br />
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And here he is. Rolling his eyes, making fun of me, cuddling me, buying me eggs, listening to my nonsense and remembering it, making me laugh at least ten times a day, keeping me sane, half making the bed, looking after me when I'm ill, surprising me with treats, missing me when I'm not there, reassuring me when internet bullies decide they don't like my writing, cuddling me after a hard day, cuddling me after an easy day, and allowing me to write all about it for goodness-knows-who to read. And he does it all <i>despite </i>knowing all the gory details of who I really am.<br />
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This is <i>our </i>version of living together, and I like to think it will stay that way.<br />
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I'm sure we'll find all kinds of other horrifying things out about each other. I'm sure we'll continue to disagree about the important things in life like the making of the bed and the regularity of washing the towels, but I like to think we will also continue to laugh, to care, and to love far too much.<br />
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<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-91445211612711356632016-08-26T16:55:00.003-07:002016-08-27T06:43:58.782-07:00Let It Go Some of my friends and family appear to fly through life, light as air, happy as a clam, with seemingly no concerns at all, and I am <i>fascinated </i>by this. Of course they <i>do </i>have worries, they're adults like the rest of us, so what is it that they do to seem so unencumbered by adulthood and all it brings with it?<br />
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I've done a little bit of unofficial research to work it out, and the answer seems to be this: they have the power over those cheeky little voices in their head.<br />
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Please bear with me on this one. I've mentioned this (slightly nervously at first) to a few people, and they have all agreed that they also have voices in their own heads that speak up in quite similar ways to mine, and that it's those voices that are quite often holding them back.<br />
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See if you recognise any of them...<br />
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1) The Voice of Cringes Past<br />
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This little voice can make an appearance at any moment, and will often pop up in my life when I'm either having a quiet moment- like driving alone or exercising- or when I'm nervous or lacking confidence.<br />
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It normally starts 'hey, remember when you...?' and goes on to list <i>unbearably cringeworthy </i>things that you said or did, spanning as widely as something you regret from when you were seven years old all the way up to something as recently as five minutes ago.<br />
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Ughhh if only you could undo those things. If only you could replay them so many times that you could become desensitised to them and stop wanting to curl up in a corner eating peanut butter cups and avoiding human beings for the rest of time.<br />
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You can't.<br />
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But it might reassure you to know that only the other day somebody told me that she regularly replays something she once said to me and every time convinces herself that she can never face me again. HONESTLY it's something that I didn't think anything of at the time and that hasn't crossed my mind again since. And I'm not the most easygoing person. So maybe most people have forgotten about the things I still tear myself apart about. And maybe nobody even thought anything of them at the time.<br />
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It may also reassure you to know that when I was tentatively broaching the subject of The Voice of Cringes Past with one of the most confident, outgoing people I know last week, his reaction was 'I thought that was just me! I do that all the time. Sometimes it'll be things I said <i>years </i>ago and it'll randomly pop into my head and make me think <i>why </i>did I say that?'<br />
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So it's not just us. It's everyone.<br />
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Well, almost everyone.<br />
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2) The Voice of Shocking and Unnecessary Mean Thoughts<br />
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This one may be more difficult to admit to. But it's there.<br />
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It actually doesn't make an appearance very often <i>at all, </i>but every now and then it does and it's <i>brutal. </i><br />
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A few weeks ago I popped into the Post Office to pick up a package. The lady who served me was a dream. She smiled as I walked in, was polite when she asked me for my ID, and efficient when she collected my package for me from what I call backstage. And yet as she asked me to sign the form to confirm that I had received my package, The Voice of Shocking and Unnecessary Mean Thoughts made an appearance.<br />
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<i>Gosh, she's got surprisingly fat fingers. </i><br />
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It said, totally unnecessarily and <i>really </i>nastily. <i>Where </i>did that come from? I am a kind, and thoughtful, and positive person.<br />
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Sometimes, it even comes dangerously close to the surface, and I find myself hugely thankful that it didn't quite come out of my mouth. Someone was once saying to me that they thought they were an excellent communicator, and the evil voice popped up inside my head: 'do you really?' with a raised eyebrow. I honestly had to take a moment to realise that it hadn't come out of my mouth. Thank goodness.<br />
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3) The Voice of Self Doubt<br />
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I heard recently that an overwhelming percentage of people, and in particular, women, feel that they are 'pretending' at their job and just waiting to be caught out as not really being capable of doing what they're paid for.<br />
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You are not alone if you relate to this.<br />
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4) The Voice of World Issues<br />
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As I'm sure you're aware by now, I'm a worrier. Along with being a worrier, I'm passionate, opinionated, and empathetic. A potentially unhealthy combination, in that it means I get unreasonably angry about things happening elsewhere in the world, something that my boyfriend does not understand at all.<br />
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Whilst the voice in my head is riling me up and leaving me frustrated at the state of the world and the fact that there's very little I can do about it, Dale is calm and serene as always.<br />
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"But you being angry about something that someone posted on Facebook in Japan isn't going to change that they <i>did </i>post it and that it's caused what it's caused. It's nothing to do with you. Let it go."<br />
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He's right, of course.<br />
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I voiced this to a few people who told me that I should never change. It's anger that sparks action. If you just let it go then you could argue that you're a part of the problem. It shows you're human. It shows that you care.<br />
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But the more I think about it, and the more I consider Dale's words every time I get angry, the more I think it might be better for my mental health to follow his advice.<br />
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What I don't think I will ever be able to change is being <i>upset </i>about the world. Anger I can work on, but empathy is far harder to tackle and therefore so is sadness.<br />
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I try my best. I try to recycle, to eat and shop in a moral way, to donate to charity.<br />
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But it doesn't matter how much you do, there's always something more you could be doing. And that bothers me far more than it should.<br />
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Do your best, then let it go. That appears to be the advice from the happy and the wise. Easier said than done, I know.<br />
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5) The Voice of the Future<br />
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Will I have enough money? What jobs will I do? Should I have more qualifications at my age? Will we buy a house one day? How many children will we have? What will we name them? What if all the good names are gone by the time I get to have-a-baby age?<br />
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Just a few of the totally unreasonable and totally unnecessary questions to pop into my head when The Voice of the Future is on the loose. We have so much to be happy about <i>today. </i>Why worry?<br />
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6) The Unstoppable Voice<br />
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It doesn't matter who you are, where you're from, or how you've come into my life. It doesn't matter if you're a colleague, a friend of a friend, my best friend, a man on the tube, the lady serving me in Sainsbury's, or a clearly psycho total stranger who has happened to get your paws onto my generally friends-and-family-only blog. I have a pathological need for you to like me. And that is <i>exhausting. </i><br />
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This voice is the loudest and the most persistent, and it drives me to insanity sometimes.<br />
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Earlier this year I saw possibly the happiest person I know. She also happens to be the most kind hearted and the warmest person I know. And I was so surprised at her reaction when I was worried that her friend- a person I had only met that day and have no reason to ever meet again- seemed a bit annoyed at both of us.<br />
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For some reason I had imagined that she would be the same as me- pulling her hair out about it and bending over backwards to apologise. But she wasn't.<br />
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"Whenever my Dad's mad, my mom always says <i>he'll get happy in the same pants he's mad in. </i>It's the same. She'll be okay again in five minutes." (Please note she's American. She means mum and trousers.)<br />
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I won't bore you with the details of what this girl was a bit annoyed about but as my friend explained why she didn't feel the need to fix the situation even I could completely see that she was right. Her friend wasn't angry about anything that actually mattered and she'd be over it in five minutes and never think about it again.<br />
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I cannot emphasise enough how energetic, kind, and thoughtful this friend is. Perhaps it's because she isn't weighed down worrying about the nonsense that I worry about.<br />
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I also recently read something on the internet posted by one of my ultimate heroes, health and fitness Guru Chalene Johnson.<br />
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Somebody had commented on her status "you annoy me. #unfollow."<br />
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That would have resulted in me gulping back the tears and my quivering voice insisting that I know it doesn't matter but then needing a few minutes to blow my nose.<br />
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Chalene drew attention to it. And not to make a fool of the writer of the comment, and not to shame her as a 'hater', but to demonstrate to people that it's okay if everyone doesn't like you. I won't write exactly what she said (mainly because I'm not sure about copyright), but basically her message was this: not everyone is going to like you. And that's okay. If you find somebody annoying/ boring/ upsetting in any way then try your best to remove them from your life to make room for all the wonderful, magical, fascinating people that are out there. And let the people that find <i>you </i>annoying (because there will be people that find you annoying) leave your life, to make room for the people who find you wonderful, magical, and fascinating. And just be thankful that your life is only full of these great people.<br />
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My happiest friends are also the healthiest, most beautiful, most energetic, and kind, and I truly believe that if I could keep the energy that I put into worrying, and could let go of those totally unnecessary things that pull me down, I would be lighter, and as a result be as happy, musical, and energetic as the happiest people I know.<br />
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Now just to be clear I am a happy person. I am happy every single day, am positive, and grateful, and smile a lot. But I know that if I could just Let Things Go I could be lighter and <i>even </i>happier. And so could you.<br />
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So this is me promising you, lovely readers, that I will continue to do my best at everything, but then I will Let It Go. And so should you.<br />
<br />Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-76920082536204708302016-06-20T14:49:00.002-07:002016-06-24T14:55:55.956-07:00I Think I Can, I Know I Can....When I worked in London two years ago I was fortunate enough to a) also live in London, and b) work only evenings and weekends. Since then I have worked in Essex. As a result, I have made it to the ripe old age of twenty seven never having commuted to London for work.<br />
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This week though, the stars aligned in a way that they haven't before, allowing me the opportunity to commute from Chelmsford to London like a real, grown up commuter. </div>
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For those of you that have been lucky enough to live this commute, I'm really hoping that you will relate to this and not just think I've become grumpy in my old age. For those of you who have never experienced it, sit back, relax, and have a read of what I learnt from my four days as a commuter...</div>
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a) The rumours about the weather affecting the trains beyond the reasonable? </div>
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All true. </div>
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All three of my trains in the morning of day four were delayed due to inclement weather. (It was raining. No snow, no hail, no monsoon, no hurricane. British June Drizzle- that's all.) All three of my trains in the evening <i>of the same day </i>were also delayed, despite the fact that the rain had stopped around midday and it had been 21 degrees for most of the afternoon. </div>
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b) The reason the weather affects the trains so much is this...</div>
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We're British, right? We love nothing more than to moan about the weather. It's too hot, it's too cold, it's muggy, it's rainy, I'm burnt, there's hot and there's hot and this is too hot. So when something goes wrong with the trains- give the punters what they want, they say. Tell them it's the weather's fault. </div>
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Now I know this because on the way home, once it had stopped raining and the sun had a little sombrero on and his maracas out- they found themselves having to be honest. </div>
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And I am not kidding or even exaggerating when I tell you this is the announcement that came over the tannoy. </div>
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(Please imagine your best over-the-top London accent. Bert in Mary Poppins, if you will.) </div>
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<i>Ladies and Gents, just to let you know I'm meanta be goin' 'ome now, only the new driver ain't turnt up to take over. So er...well you'll be delayed. Sorry 'bout that.</i></div>
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Oh that's okay, not to worry. This is a free train service after all, what can we really expe- oh wait. Most of us have had to remortgage our houses to afford a weekly ticket. </div>
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c) You will see the same people every single day...</div>
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1) The One With The Phone....</div>
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Seriously, this guy has been on every train I've ever caught. Nobody seems to have told him yet that that dodgy Nokia ringtone that everyone abandoned in 2003...well, was abandoned in 2003. And that it's embarrassing to have it going off every two minutes for the entirety of a forty minute journey. </div>
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When this guy is around (and he always is), the soundtrack to your journey is this: </div>
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*dodgy ringtone*</div>
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"Hello? Hello mate, listen, I'm on the train so I might cut out a bi-hello? Hello?" </div>
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*dodgy ringtone*</div>
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"Hello? Sorry mate, cut out cause I'm on the train. So this board meeti- mate? Are you still there?" </div>
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And repeat. </div>
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You've said it a hundred times! You're on the train! You're not going to have a useful conversation and you';re driving everyone crazy. Put.The.Phone.Away. </div>
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2) The Self Righteous One</div>
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This one only appears on a rush hour tube. </div>
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You're squeezed on. Your nose is pressed up inside someone else's armpit (and it's <i>never </i>someone who had time for deodorant), a different person's hair is touching your face, you're not quite sure where your hands are, and out of the corner of your eye you can see that there are about five people with their noses actually squashed up against the glass, their breath leaving slobber on the windows.</div>
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And then there's <i>one person. Always. </i></div>
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"Excuse me, you're quite close to my bag. Could you please step back?" At this point they usually, like number one, get their phone out and say, loudly enough for the entire carriage to hear, "ugh yeah, I'm on the train and I've got some idiot standing really close to me. Don't know what's wrong with people." </div>
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As though the tiny student with her books squeezed against her and her head pressed against the side of the train has all the room in the world and has chosen to situate herself as close as possible for the laugh. </div>
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I like to think that the person at the other end of the phone is picturing a blissfully empty train with a stranger hugging their friend because they just find them so charming and irresistible. </div>
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3) The Tut Master</div>
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The one who is unimpressed by the behaviour of every other commuter- from anyone who has dared to bring luggage with them to anyone who squeezes past and accidentally brushes them- but, unlike the first two characters, is far too British to draw attention to themselves by being loud. Instead, they settle for a little tut and eye roll directed at all around them, and as a result attracting more attention than the loud ones. </div>
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4) Superman</div>
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Most trains are <i>filled </i>with supermen and women, particularly during rush hour. </div>
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These are people whose journeys are <i>so much more important than everybody else's. </i>They will step in front of you, push you out of the way, knock you down the escalator if they need to. These are also the people who sigh far more dramatically than necessary when the inevitable delays are announced, and immediately grab their phones, presumably to let the world know that they'll be a little bit late to save the day. </div>
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5) The One That Everyone Bonds Over</div>
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These people are so ludicrous that all the other types of people come together in united amusement and/or disbelief at them. They're normally either shouting about their beliefs (not usually respectable religious beliefs, but the belief that their dog is reincarnated Elvis or something), singing out loud to their headphones, prancing about dressed in a gorilla costume (seriously), or dancing with the kind of enthusiasm that should be reserved for behind closed doors.</div>
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I love these people. They break up the tedium of 'I can't hear you, I'm on the train', and the tutting. </div>
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6) The Overexcited One</div>
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We've left Shenfield, and the next stop is Stratford. <i>It's still a long way away. Yes, </i>it's the next stop, but we've still got a while to go. But they need you to get up from your seat to let them get to the front door, or <i>worse, </i>you're already standing as there were no seats free (because The Self-Righteous One is taking up a seat or two with her bags), and they insist on squeezing past you so that they can stand beside the door, ready to get off in twenty two minutes. (When you will also be departing.)</div>
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Now it's not like me to be negative, I believe my life's purpose is to make people happy. To Spread the Joy. </div>
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But I did not enjoy my four days of commuting, and if I hadn't vowed, five minutes into the first journey, that I would be writing about this when it was over, I'm not sure I would have coped at all. So the main thing I have taken from the experience is <i>thank goodness I don't have to do this every day. I have never been more grateful for my driving licence. </i></div>
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However I will share with you my three highlights....</div>
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<br /></div>
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One of my favourite things that happened was when I was showing my ticket to a ticket inspector and just as I was walking away I heard him ask the lady behind: 'boy or girl?' I whipped my head around to see what on earth prompted that question, when I saw a <i>hugely </i>pregnant woman positively beam as she said: a boy <i>and </i>a girl. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It made me happy, it <i>obviously </i>made her happy- that moment of interest in another person didn't cost much from the ticket inspector but it prompted a lot of smiles in a crowd of otherwise fairly grumpy people. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Another was when I had just taken out a chewing gum and popped it in my mouth. "Excuse me?" the man sitting diagonally across from me said, throwing me completely by being polite and gracious, and none of the characters above. "Can I have a chewing gum please?" </div>
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<br /></div>
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And then of course, there are the clever announcements. They bring more joy than I can explain. They give these moody, animal-like travellers an excuse to smile at one another without falling into category five. The man in Chelmsford is <i>magical. </i>He reminds everyone to stand clear of the doors, and then follows it up with "Outstanding as always, Chelmsford," or "Chelmsford, you never cease to amaze me." </div>
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<br /></div>
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It's a small part of his day but this tiny bit of creativity and humour brings smiles to a lot of people. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So, ladies and gents, I implore you. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Next time you are on a train- please smile when you spot these people, rather than wanting to cry as I did this week. Please be kind to them. Be funny. Smile. Help people out. Be The Change. Spread the Joy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I'm quite certain that when Cinderella said 'have courage, and be kind,' she was talking about surviving train journeys.</div>
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And as those of you who do these journeys regularly will know, courage and kindness are not common characters on the commute. </div>
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So introduce them. Wiggle up and make room for them. Invite them on. Let them stand in front of you, move too close to you, bring their luggage and their kids on too. </div>
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Have courage, and be kind. </div>
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And for goodness sake, remember how wonderful you are to do that every day. </div>
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If you can do that, you can do anything. </div>
Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-21500084107806860292016-05-25T13:28:00.001-07:002016-05-25T14:44:36.399-07:00Honor To Us AllThere's a running joke in the television show <i>Friday Night Dinner </i> that the family have Nice Grandma and Horrible Grandma. It's the only joke in the whole series that I can't relate to.<br />
<br />
But it seems I'm the only one.<br />
<br />
Almost every one of my friends has a Nice Grandma and Horrible Grandma, and has referred to them as such for as long as I can remember.<br />
<br />
(The funniest thing about this is that the whole family refers to them as Nice and Horrible- including their own son/daughter, and it's just totally accepted.)<br />
<br />
So apparently my brothers and I are three of the only people on the planet to be fortunate enough to have the four kindest and most amusing people on the planet for grandparents.<br />
<br />
I was lucky enough to keep all four of my grandparents all the way up until five days before my seventeenth birthday, when my paternal grandmother (or Nanny as she will always be known) slipped away in her sleep, graceful and classy as ever, aged eighty.<br />
<br />
Today is five days before my twenty seventh birthday.<br />
<br />
Ten whole years have passed since then.<br />
<br />
Which is totally inconceivable to me.<br />
<br />
How has it been that long? She could have been here, yesterday, calling me precocious and producing jam filled cakes out of thin air.<br />
<br />
<i>Anyway, </i>the arrival of today's date paired with watching <i>Friday Night Dinner </i>and discussing my best friend's Horrible Grandma with her got me thinking about Grandparents in general and how lucky Mowgli, Chip and I are.<br />
<br />
I don't know about your grandparents. Maybe they're as wonderful as mine. Maybe your Nice Grandma is great and your Horrible Grandma is pure evil. Maybe they're full of funny, wise anecdotes, exceptional secret recipes, and classic one liners. Maybe they love <i>Keeping Up Appearances </i>and <i>Porridge. </i>Maybe all your memories consist of sitting on their knees as a toddler. Hopefully, whatever your memories are, you can enjoy- and maybe even relate to- some of my most treasured Nice Grandparent memories....<br />
<br />
1) Cakes<br />
<br />
The other day Dale and I were eating cakes (it's my birthday month, we've eaten cakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner for three weeks), and when we were sad that they were over and were staring resolutely at the empty cases, Dale asked whether I remembered as a child sucking on the empty paper. I did. And was immediately transported back. Back to around 1998. At least once a week we would come home to find that Nanny had let herself in with her key and left us some fancy cakes on the kitchen table. Normally filled with jam and topped with white icing and either silver balls, colourful sprinkles, or coconut.<br />
<br />
2) Modern Dating<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I had a conversation with my Grandad Ed that went like this:<br />
<br />
"Your brother seems very happy with his girlfriend. Everyone's being a bit vague about how they met though. Can you tell me once and for all? How <i>did </i>they meet?"<br />
<br />
"Well," I begin, still deciding exactly where to begin with explaining Tinder to a ninety one year old, "on the internet."<br />
<br />
I stop there, thinking that will do for today's lesson.<br />
<br />
"Right," he says, seeming to be taking it in. "You must have some real issues if you've got to turn to the internet to find a girl, haven't you?"<br />
<br />
3) Young at Heart<br />
<br />
Last week I went to see my Grandad Derek on his seventy eighth birthday. He was at the Bowls Club (his favourite place in the whole world) running an Open Day for new people to go along and trial bowling for the first time.<br />
<br />
Two things struck me about my time there.<br />
<br />
The first was how excited my Grandad was about his birthday.<br />
<br />
You know the way old people say 'ah once you get to my age, birthdays don't mean much anymore'?<br />
<br />
Not my Grandad. He was <i>so excited. </i>Which explains why my mum gets so excited about hers, and why I, in turn, get so excited about mine. And also is the perfect permission story for me to tell when people make faces about the fact that I tell everyone when mine is coming up despite the fact I'm over the age of ten.<br />
<br />
The second thing that struck me was how sad he was to be back from his ten days in Fuerteventura. When I asked him whether he had a good time he looked genuinely gutted as he answered 'I just find it so hard settling back into reality. It was so great.'<br />
<br />
I didn't know that anyone felt like that about holidays past the age of ten either (except my Mum. She's more like her dad than I ever realised.)<br />
<br />
The final thing that I feel I should highlight to you at this point is that he was recently on Radio Two as a success story of someone who started learning the Saxophone aged seventy six.<br />
<br />
Honestly, he is the original proof that if you can dream it, you can do it- and you should.<br />
<br />
(Also he only looks about twenty five. Forget surgery, keeping busy might be the answer to maintaining your youthful looks!)<br />
<br />
4) Therapy<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like my Grandma is my therapist. Quite often I'll 'pop' in for a coffee (she provides me with special fancy cappuccinos) and end up being there talking at her for hours about everything that's happened to me and happened to cross my mind in the past month. And she listens to all of it. Never has to get on with something more important, never has a vacant expression, never busies herself with other things. She listens and then responds with sensible, Grandma advice, and is always on my side. Always.<br />
<br />
<br />
5) Technology<br />
<br />
I can't write about my grandparents without mentioning this subject.<br />
<br />
Not a week goes by when there isn't a funny story about my Grandad and his computer. This is the same man who loves his birthday, holidays, and takes up new hobbies as and when he fancies. He has an iPhone, iPod, hotmail, computer, printer, scanner and Facebook account.<br />
<br />
There are so many stories that I could tell about his adventures with these various pieces of technology, but when I asked my brothers which story was their favourite, they both said the same thing.<br />
<br />
It's his Computer Rules.<br />
<br />
He's very strict.<br />
<br />
He deletes emails almost as soon as they come in, and when he goes on holiday he calls around to his family and friends and asks them not to send any emails for the next two weeks as he really does believe (no matter how many times everyone tells him) that they will clog up his computer.<br />
<br />
He treats his Facebook friends the same- much to the amusement of my cousin Hannah- whom he asked to delete his friend who had written a lovely message on his wall about how great it was to be in touch again, because he 'really didn't need him on there, clogging things up.'<br />
<br />
My mum then reminded me of her favourite story.<br />
<br />
The time that somehow- and we will never know how- my Grandad managed to change his Facebook profile to say he lived in Cambridge (he lives in Essex) and 'works at Raise These Sails.'<br />
<br />
'Raise These Sails' is the name of my cousin George's band. They describe themselves as 'Progressive/Post Hardcore.'<br />
<br />
What a shock that was to those of my Grandad's bowls pals that had been lucky enough to be added as a friend.<br />
<br />
6) 1940s Fairytale<br />
<br />
There's a little quote making its way around little wooden plaques in people's homes and on centre pieces at weddings the country over that says something along the lines of "Every love story is beautiful but ours is my favourite."<br />
<br />
Never has that phrase been truer than with my Grandad Ed. Almost every time I see him he retells the story of his first date with my Nanny.<br />
<br />
She was late. So late, in fact, that my Grandad assumed he had been stood up and gave up hope of ever seeing her again. He decided that if she wasn't on the next bus, he was leaving. Bear in mind, lovely readers, that there was no Facebook in the 1940s. No whatsapp, no mobiles, no Linkedin, no Twitter.<br />
<br />
<i>No way </i>of getting in contact.<br />
<br />
She was on the next bus.<br />
<br />
<i>Obviously. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Because if she hadn't been, according to my calculations, there are <i>twenty two </i>people that wouldn't exist today.<br />
<br />
Which leads me to my next story...<br />
<br />
7) Too Much Information.<br />
<br />
The time my Nanny told me that she hadn't planned my Dad.<br />
<br />
"Oh no," she said, blissfully unaware that she was about to scar her fourteen year old granddaughter for life, "we hadn't planned him. But we went to a wedding, we had a good time, and then that was that. I was pregnant."<br />
<br />
Nice.<br />
<br />
<br />
8) Marriage Lessons<br />
<br />
I have learnt <i>so much </i>from both sets of grandparents about how relationships should work.<br />
<br />
Every single time I left my Nanny and Grandad's house for seventeen years, it was always to wave them off <i>together</i>. And after fifty eight years of marriage they <i>always</i> cuddled as they waved their family off. It's something that struck me- even at the age of twelve- as true magic.<br />
<br />
My Grandma should run classes on marriage. Seriously.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I watch her in awe and feel I should be making notes.<br />
<br />
"Derek do you think you could do the bacon dear?"<br />
<br />
"Can't you do it? I'm just in the middle of showing Rebecca something on my computer."<br />
<br />
"Oh I would darling but I'm just not as good as you. I just don't know how you make it so crispy, you really are the expert."<br />
<br />
Now written like this it might all seem really obvious. But it's actually genius. I watch as he physically puffs up, his chest rises slightly, and he replies "Oh well it's all in the way you place it on the pan. Quite simple really," and then proudly struts to the kitchen to show us what he can do.<br />
<br />
Brilliant.<br />
<br />
My Grandma and Grandad also always do their shopping early on a Thursday morning and always have Fish and Chips for tea on Friday night. No expert has ever <i>told </i>me that's a secret to marriage, but I think having weekly rituals that involve guaranteed time together might just be one.<br />
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<br /></div>
I have learnt <i>so much </i>from all four of my grandparents, and do my best to appreciate them every single day.<br />
<br />
I like to think that I will continue to carry these wonderful traits, that they will continue to be a part of me, and then of my children, and that I will be as funny, determined, interesting, wise, and loving as my absolutely amazing ancestors.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-77969372072609318242016-04-24T13:24:00.002-07:002016-04-24T13:24:54.291-07:00Schadenfreude!Those of you who have read my blog before will know that I am an avid fan of Avenue Q, and regularly quote it.<br />
<br />
You will also know that I am a huge fan of making people happy, and that my deepest wish is that I could make a living the same way that Ant and Dec do- simply bringing happiness to normal people.<br />
<br />
One could argue that that is part of my job, but not quite in the same way as Ant and Dec so I won't be wording it like that on my CV just yet.<br />
<br />
<i>Anyway, </i>one of the best songs in Avenue Q is Schadenfreude. For those of you who are unaware, this means 'pleasure derived from another person's misfortune.' The examples cited in Avenue Q include laughing at ice skaters falling over, feeling warm and cosy watching people out in the rain, and watching actors fail to get to the end of their Oscars speech.<br />
<br />
Now you may be thinking that it doesn't sound very nice- it isn't. But we all do it, so it's okay to embrace it. Be honest with me- did you laugh at Madonna's Brit Award incident? Did you watch Jennifer Lawrence falling over at the Oscars? If you didn't, are you going to look it up the second you've finished reading this? (And not a second before, may I add.)<br />
<br />
I think if I'm ever going to make a living making people happy, it's going to be using schadenfreude. I think I regularly bring people happiness by the simple gratitude that they are not me, in any given embarrassing moment...<br />
<br />
It's the night before I start my new role. More responsibility. More pressure. I'm going up in the world.<br />
<br />
I've been at a social dinner for all of the managers in Essex, and am now walking back to my car, swallowing back tears as I regale the story of the <i>very </i>embarrassing thing I did in front of twenty of my colleagues in the Lakeside branch of Bella Italia.<br />
<br />
"Why can't I be more like Princess Kate?" I wail, opening my car door and throwing myself into my seat, "she would never have done that."<br />
<br />
"No, you're right. She wouldn't have done." My mum replies, attempting a sympathetic voice as she laughs her head off. "Ooh but you know who would!" She perks up, adopting her look-on-the-bright-side tone. "Miranda Hart!"<br />
<br />
Ah. The other person every little girl wants to grow up to be.<br />
<br />
Thanks Mum.<br />
<br />
I messaged my friend Alice- about both the embarrassing act and my mum's reaction- who immediately replied 'who wants to be like Kate? At least you're not boring!'<br />
<br />
The truth is that <i>I </i>want to be like Kate. I want to sail through all life's social occasions with the ease and grace of Julie Andrews. I want to be able to leave the presence of people without cringing as I replay everything I said and did on the drive home. I want to be able to marry Prince Harry without being terrified that I'm going to bring shame on the family with my ridiculous, and genuinely accidental, antics.<br />
<br />
My nearest and dearest are now so used to these stories that they just half laugh and half despair at how I do these things.<br />
<br />
But another friend pointed out that it's what makes her relaxed around me, the fact that I have these stories to tell, and that I (have no choice but to) make fun of myself, means that she never feels stupid in front of me.<br />
<br />
(There's a compliment in there somewhere.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, Alice has a point.<br />
<br />
They're stories to tell, right?<br />
<br />
So tell them I will.<br />
<br />
Please bear in mind that these four things happened to me in the past seven days, so this represents my average week...<br />
<br />
1) The Work Incident<br />
<br />
Rewind approximately half an hour to before I rang my mum.<br />
<br />
I've spent the whole evening sat between my regional manager and a manager from another centre that I've never met before. It has all been rather lovely- despite the most unhelpful signs all the way to the correct car park I did make it on time, contrary to my concerns I struck the right balance between dressy and casual in my outfit choice, I managed not to fall on the dodgy tiles in my heels on the way to the toilet, the conversation has been natural and full-flowing, and the delicious food all managed to make it to my mouth rather than down my front.<br />
<br />
Successful, all in all.<br />
<br />
We've requested the bill, the last of the drinks are being consumed, and we're all feeling satisfied that it has been a simply lovely evening, when- with absolutely no forewarning and for absolutely no reason at all, I fall off my chair and fly backwards across the floor before I come skidding to a halt in front of twenty colleagues from across the county, my regional manager, and several Bella Italia Lakeside staff- all now silent and staring, unsure what to do.<br />
<br />
I hit the floor <i>really </i>hard, so hard that if I were in a room on my own I would have burst into inconsolable, teething-baby tears.<br />
<br />
The shock of whacking my backside on the dodgy, faux-wooden floor- apart from the pain- knocks the breath out of me.<br />
<br />
I feel everyone's eyes on me- unsure whether to laugh or to comfort me.<br />
<br />
I realise I have to lead this.<br />
<br />
If I want to keep my new job, I think, I probably need to choose a route that isn't 'burst into tears and insist I haven't had anything to drink.' (NB. I was driving, and genuinely had not had a sip of alcohol.)<br />
<br />
"I'm fine, I'm just mortified,' I shout, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.<br />
<br />
The room erupts into <i>hysterical </i>laughter which- my mother will later point out- is probably for the best. If everyone had been nice I may not have been able to keep my tears at bay.<br />
<br />
I laugh merrily along and swallow my drink with my horror, before escaping at the earliest possible second and calling Dale- who said "brilliant, does this mean we can move to Australia?"<br />
<br />
2) The Wedding Part 1<br />
<br />
I went to Oxford for a wedding.<br />
<br />
Oxford is quite far from my house.<br />
<br />
(Though the majority of the guests travelling from Malaysia means that I can't emphasise this point too much.)<br />
<br />
Instead of booking a hotel like a sensible person might have done, I chose to drive there and back in a day.<br />
<br />
It was absolutely <i>fine, </i>I enjoy driving and it's only a couple of hours each way.<br />
<br />
Except that it started at 12, which meant getting up and totally ready by 9 (for those of you that don't know- getting ready for weddings takes time), to allow myself an hour to get lost. (I have been known to get lost on my way to work, I was never going to make it all that way without a couple of hiccups.)<br />
<br />
I made it to the Park and Ride having only taken two wrong turns and managing to get myself straight back on track. What I hadn't taken into account was that I would have to pay for both the Park and the Ride (last time I used it in Essex you just paid for the bus, not sure whether that's changed across the country or whether Oxford just have their own expensive rules), and that it would take TEN YEARS to pay over the phone for parking because I didn't have enough change with me for both.<br />
<br />
I clearly stated the registration, make, and colour of my car as requested, only to be told that the voice recognition thing wasn't working, I would have to text them, and then call them back.<br />
<br />
I felt like they were doing it on purpose- you know like Rowan Atkinson in Love Actually?<br />
<br />
Having finally paid, I raced to the bus, jangling every penny I had with me, and buying the only ticket I could get with the very little change I had with me (who has <i>change </i>with them when they're in their fanciest frock?), making a mental note to get money out for the journey home, and then...proceeded to sit on the bus for what felt like another hour whilst they checked that everybody within the vicinity of the car park had made it onto the bus.<br />
<br />
The second the bus pulled up to Stop E1 (unbeknownst to the driver- when I had said I need to get to Stop E1 he had rolled his eyes and said he thought I probably meant the city centre. Turns out I did.), I ran up the road, frantically holding my phone at a strange angle as I attempted to use the map Dale had sent me to navigate my way through the city, whilst also holding the five hundred other things that I would have been carrying in a handbag had I realised earlier that I needed one. (In the absence of a bag that matched my meticulously paired shoes, dress and fascinator combo I had thought it a good idea to just carry my lipstick, chewing gum, invitation, purse, phone, and Bonjela (my wisdom tooth is coming through), forgetting that I would look even more ridiculous than if I had gone with a slightly odd coloured clutch.<br />
<br />
Kidding myself that I was having an adventure straight out of a movie, spinning around in my pretty dress in the sunshine as a musician played a guitar in the square and a Preacher stood on his box shouting about how loved we all are, I scuttled down a street that looked like it might be the right one- only seven minutes to go until the ceremony was due to start.<br />
<br />
Stretching to see past parked cars and walking tours, I spotted some bright and beautiful bridesmaids scurrying through a gateway. I'd found it.<br />
<br />
I took a deep breath to pull myself together, and turned to the shop window beside me to arrange my bright blue fascinator, boost my hair a bit and replace the lipstick that had undoubtedly slid off during the more stressful parts of my adventure.<br />
<br />
It was only as I smiled at myself in the window that I realised that there was a very stern faced and scary man directly on the other side of that window, with raised eyebrows and not a <i>hint </i>of amusement.<br />
<br />
3) The Wedding Part 2<br />
<br />
Another fascinator story, sadly.<br />
<br />
I made it into the wedding (although it did involve squeezing past the bride- who was ten minutes early and who I have never met- desperate to shout: I am invited! I know your fiance!) and was casually strolling back through the city to the reception, catching up with an old friend, when a bus drove past.<br />
<br />
All at once my fascinator flew off, my arms flailing above me to rescue it; my dress flew in the air to reveal my underwear (I wish that was the only underwear/naked embarrassing story I had to tell. I could write a book just about all the times I've inadvertently flashed horrified onlookers), my wrap fell and got caught up in my legs, my chewing gum skidded to hit the toes of a man waiting innocently at the bus stop, my lipstick rolled in the opposite direction, and paper scattered the floor as the various parts of the invitation escaped my grip.<br />
<br />
The friend I had been walking with scurried about trying to rescue all my things whilst the other guests gracefully collected my various belongings like the true princesses they are, and I wished desperately for a hole to swallow me up and take me away to an underground lair full of embarrassing idiots to save the beautiful and graceful University of Warwick graduates of the world from having to deal with us.<br />
<br />
4) Specsavers<br />
<br />
I think you might actually relate to this one.<br />
<br />
In fact, I think Princess Kate may even relate to this one.<br />
<br />
Earlier this week I visited Specsavers for my bi-yearly check up, and the second I was called in I found myself inexplicably giggly.<br />
<br />
I always get a little bit nervous at the eye doctor. Last time I actually did something <i>exceptionally </i>embarrassing. I'll let you guess at what that was- fortunately I was spared that this time.<br />
<br />
Instead, I found myself faced with a round, jolly optician. Santa without the beard, if you will.<br />
<br />
"Ooh sorry," I said as he had to adjust the machine for the third time, "I must have an exceptionally small head."<br />
<br />
"Oh no," he replied conspiratorially, leaning in and whispering, "the lady before you had an exceptionally large head."<br />
<br />
"HA. Oh you are funny. Ha ha ha." I began, melting into over the top and unnecessary giggles.<br />
<br />
'Pull yourself together!' My head said, as my body continued to convulse with laughter at nothing.<br />
<br />
Then they took me through to the next room, where I was presented with a beautiful Asian man with bright blue eyes.<br />
<br />
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself saying the absolute nonsense that had come out with Summertime Santa, especially as he made all the machines much smaller.<br />
<br />
Then the lights went out and he started poking about with my eyes.<br />
<br />
The world got a bit small, and a bit tight, and I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't stop wriggling, and...<br />
<br />
He turned the lights on.<br />
<br />
"You've gone very pale. I think you're about to pass out. Let's have a break." The beautiful man said, concern etched over his perfect face.<br />
<br />
"Has anyone else ever needed a glass of water to avoid passing out at a standard eye test?" I was desperate to ask. I didn't, because I was quite confident about the answer, and I already felt stupid enough.<br />
<br />
I heard a bout of unreasonable laughter come from the next room.<br />
<br />
I can only assume Santa was whispering conspiratorially about my unusually small head.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Not only do I have a lovely talent for embarrassing myself in simple situations, I also have an exceptional talent for saving other people's embarrassment for them.<br />
<br />
I spend so much of my time feeling mortified that I will do almost anything to save other people that awkwardness.<br />
<br />
I have <i>so </i>many examples of this (including having to pretend to be a vegetarian for a year, and buying a chest of drawers that I did not want or need), but this is Minnie Mouse's favourite, so I thought I'd share it with you....<br />
<br />
I climbed aboard a bus in Coventry to be met with the friendliest bus driver I have ever and will ever meet.<br />
<br />
"How are you?!" He asked, with unusual enthusiasm for Coventry.<br />
<br />
I answered, matching his enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
"And how's your sister?!" He said, "How's her new job going?"<br />
<br />
Gosh.<br />
<br />
How embarrassing for him.<br />
<br />
He thinks I'm somebody else.<br />
<br />
How do I break it to him?<br />
<br />
I don't have a sister? I've never met you before in my life? I'm not who you think I am?<br />
<br />
None of them felt right.<br />
<br />
"She's...great!" had escaped my mouth before I could stop it. "The new job's a challenge but she's enjoying it. Thanks for asking! You take care."<br />
<br />
I took my seat on the bus and hoped against hope that he wouldn't ask anything that I couldn't lie about.<br />
<br />
He didn't.<br />
<br />
What he did do, however, was stop the bus at a stop approximately three stops before I needed to get off, and shout "here's your stop mate! Have a nice day, won't you?'<br />
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I'd already lied. I couldn't make up an excuse as to why I might be staying on for three extra stops quickly enough- I didn't know who I was pretending to be. But equally, I couldn't <i>now </i>tell him that I wasn't who he thought I was.<br />
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So I got off.<br />
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I got off, and waited twenty minutes in the freezing Coventry cold for the next bus to come along, and prayed that I would never get on his bus again.<br />
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(I didn't.)<br />
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I could tell you so many more stories like these but I am just about ready to burst with embarrassment having regaled these ones, and I imagine you are now desperate for the bathroom or another cup of tea, I have gone on a bit, so will leave it there.<br />
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What I am hoping is that I, like Miranda Hart and Nicky from Avenue Q, will have made you feel better about your own faux pas, and that next time you fall off your chair, or break wind in public, or show the world your underwear, or pass out for no reason, and you're wailing that Princess Kate would never do that, someone might tell you "she wouldn't, but you know who would?! Rebecca!"<br />
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And you might think- Oh. Yeah. Well at least I'm not boring.<br />
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You may even think of the cast of Avenue Q, who remind us as the song finishes that "we provide a vital service to society, you and me- schadenfreude, making the world a better place to be" :)Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-15050441564593001282016-03-28T10:58:00.002-07:002016-03-28T11:00:18.173-07:00The Girl You Think I AmLet me tell you about Rex.<br />
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Rex burst into my life in 2005 when we bonded over our love of Goo Goo Dolls, dislike of the college bus, and the fact that we both had a free double period first thing on a Wednesday. </div>
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He is the closest real life human being to Ross from Friends I have ever met (hence the alias), and soon became one of my best friends, favourite people and, as it turned out, fierce protector. </div>
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If a boy so much as <i>looked </i>at me (and let's face it, with the bright red streaks in my hair, inexplicably round cheeks, and permanently spotty forehead, I was <i>fighting </i>them off) Rex was there- interviewing them about their intentions with me, visibly sizing them up and then debriefing me on his in-depth opinions on what I should next. (He was never wrong.) </div>
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Which is why I was <i>beside </i>myself last week to meet his very own, two week old daughter. </div>
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She is perfect. </div>
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And it will come as a surprise to nobody that he is <i>wonderful </i>with her. </div>
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He answered the door holding her confidently with one arm; her tiny, content face looking up at him, uncannily like his wife's mum on a teeny scale. </div>
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I watched him for the next couple of hours as he confidently fed, burped, and comforted this tiny person, more relaxed and happy than I have ever seen him before. </div>
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At the time I didn't think anything of it. </div>
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It suited him. </div>
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It seemed right. </div>
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Already I can't remember a time that they didn't have a baby. </div>
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(Although that may be because they've been looking after me for eleven years.) </div>
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But in hindsight I wondered: <i>how </i>does he know what he's doing? </div>
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There's so much in the press, on social media, and in general conversations about how mums deal with having a baby, how wonderful they are and how much you change when you become a mother. </div>
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But what about dads? </div>
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They don't give birth, and they only have a couple of weeks off before they return to work, and the hours between 9 and 5 go back to exactly how they were before. </div>
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But the fact remains that they have also become a parent- their lives have changed forever- and they are going to be faced with new challenges almost every day for the foreseeable future. </div>
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So how do they know what they're doing? </div>
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On the drive home from their house that day, I was struck by the lyrics of Carrie Underwood's song 'The Girl You Think I Am'. </div>
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The first line of the second verse is 'I've been Daddy's little girl since my first cry'. </div>
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This, of course, immediately made me think of Rex calmly comforting his two week old daughter. </div>
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Carrie goes on to sing about how she desperately wants to be the heroine that her father believes she is. </div>
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Both Rex and his wife- Jiminy Cricket- have already described their daughter as strong-willed and wise. </div>
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Which of course, she will be, because she has such wonderful parents. </div>
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Already she is brave and beautiful, already she has turned their lives upside down and brought a new magic to every single day that they could never have predicted. </div>
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What wonderful confidence and self-worth this little person who is already so loved by so many is going to have. </div>
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She's going to want to grow into the superstar that her parents already see. </div>
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I listened to the song again. </div>
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The previous weekend my dad had come over straight from his sixth day at work so that I could do some presentations for him. </div>
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These presentations will have been boring and meaningless to him (he didn't say this- I just know I would have been bored and lost had I been listening in his position). </div>
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I was going to a scary assessment day a few days later and he volunteered to listen to me whittle on about various numbers and targets that would mean nothing to him so that I could go in feeling more confident. </div>
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The night before the assessment I popped in to see him and his girlfriend. He had no doubt that I would get it. </div>
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I had that song in my head the whole time. </div>
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I sang it to myself on the train all the way there. </div>
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As my shaking hands accepted the coffee they presented me with when I arrived. </div>
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As my shakier hands pointed at the various charts and graphs I had created to support my points. </div>
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<i>I want to be the girl you think I am. </i></div>
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I am confident that if I didn't have parents who have every faith that I can do plenty of things that I'm quite sure that I can't do, I would never be brave enough to try. </div>
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And I can see already that Rex is going to be that person for his child. </div>
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Another friend's husband is already proving to be the same with his one day old son. </div>
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Another friend who is already doing an amazing job of being this person for his one year old son has just found out that he is soon to have another. </div>
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And a fourth friend- causing ridiculous emotion on my part- has had confidence in his children's brilliance for as long as I can remember. And now the first one is due this year. </div>
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Which is why I thought today- my own wonderful dad's birthday, and the weekend that so many of my male friends have become parents in one way or another- would be the perfect time to celebrate how brilliant dads are...</div>
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1) Laughter</div>
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My Dad is particularly good at laughing at me when I need it most. </div>
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When Dale told me he was going to the toilet and got on the plane without me, leaving me to run to the gate as they called my name over the tannoy at the last minute? When I accidentally sat in on the wrong funeral? When I drove directly over a roundabout because my driving instructor told me to 'go straight over'? </div>
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None of them were funny until I told my Dad and he laughed <i>hysterically</i>. Suddenly they did seem more funny than mortifying. I mean, I'm not denying that they <i>are</i> mortifying. But the fact that he laughed also made them funny. And less horrendous. </div>
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He also <i>makes </i>me laugh a lot. Inadvertently, most of the time. </div>
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Nothing makes me happier than catching my brothers' eyes when my Dad uses a word in the wrong context, or gets something slightly wrong. (Anyone else's parents fans of the Black Eyed Beans?) </div>
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2) Shared Interests</div>
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My brother Mowgli said that his favourite thing about our Dad is the fact that they have so many shared interests. I assume that, by that, Mowgli meant he really appreciates that his Dad brought him up to love football more than life itself. </div>
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Mowgli watches, plays, bets on, talks about, dreams about, decorated every bedroom as a child around, football. And that passion definitely comes from our Dad, who introduced Mowgli to a healthy interest in sport at a very young age. </div>
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But I also feel similarly. One of my favourite things about my Dad is our shared love of chocolate, The Apprentice, Ant and Dec, Christmas, and moaning about how rubbish The X Factor has got as we settle down to watch it for the seventh week in a row. </div>
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3) Inspiration</div>
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When I asked one of my best friends whether she had anything to contribute to theme of this blog, she replied simply 'my dad is the best person in the whole world.' </div>
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She then expanded on that by saying that he is creative and kind. When she was pregnant the whole family referred to the bump as 'Steve.' <i>Obviously, </i>they were never going to use that name for the baby, so when she was born, they abandoned Steve, and so her dad made them a fairy door for the garden (something that he does regularly), and wrote 'Steve' on it, because now the baby is here, Steve needs somewhere to live. </div>
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She also commented on how wonderfully positive he stays no matter what's going on. He is always smiling, and that's inspirational to her. </div>
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Me, Mowgli, and Chip are also lucky that our parents happen to be the nicest people in the world, and therefore have had being kind inspired into us. Which leads me to...</div>
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4) The Little Things</div>
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My Dad would do <i>anything </i>for <i>anyone. </i>He comes from a whole family of selfless people. Both of his parents and both of his sisters would do anything for anyone too, which means that for a long time, Mowgli, Chip and I took this to be the norm. </div>
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It's only as I've got older that I've realised that driving all the way to Coventry and back <i>twice </i>because I had more stuff than I could fit in the car was actually a huge thing to do. That dropping me off to my new job in Portsmouth in 2011 was actually quite a long way out of his way. That allowing me to have a sixteenth and twenty first birthday party at home was actually quite brave. </div>
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A few weeks ago I got all the way into work before I had realised that I didn't have my lunch with me. I had either left it in the car, or at my dad's. My car was parked a bit of a trek away, so I called my Dad to check whether I had left it there before I went all the way back to my car. </div>
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He had it. </div>
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It was fine- the centre I work in is inside a Sainsbury's so I would be able to buy lunch later. </div>
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Forty five minutes later- you've guessed it- my Dad was standing at the front of the centre, waving frantically with one hand and holding my lunch up in the other. </div>
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Chip later told me that he had reminded Dad that I work in a Sainsbury's and told him it would be ridiculous to drive my lunch all the way there, but he had brushed it off and insisted. </div>
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5) Support: no matter what</div>
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Almost everyone that I have discussed this with has said that one of the best things about their dad is that despite not always agreeing with them, or thinking what they're doing is right, they always have their dad's support. </div>
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One friend commented that her dad always goes above and beyond to make her happy, even if he can't understand why it would make her happy- the knowledge that it would is enough for him. </div>
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And, of course, the final one that I discussed at length above- <i>belief. </i>Belief that you are going to change the world. Belief that you can do anything you put your mind to. Belief that you are going to take the world by storm.</div>
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So I will continue to watch with awe, pride, and gratitude as my friends produce these little superstars, will continue to be grateful every day for my own wonderful Dad, and will continue to work hard at pretending to be as brave, clever, kind, and strong as my parents insist that I am. </div>
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And I will continue, of course, to listen to Carrie Underwood. </div>
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-924721265424453332.post-11996953304873196212016-02-08T12:18:00.001-08:002016-02-08T12:18:43.675-08:00Chip N DaleRight now I am curled up in the corner of my new bright red sofa. <i>Come Fly With Me </i>is on in the background, and Dale is on the floor building chairs. <div>
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I like to think, lovely readers, that I am a 21st century woman perfectly capable of building flat packed chairs myself. I went and picked them up from the store, drove home, and carried them from my car up to my gorgeous new first floor flat all alone and just fine whilst Dale was at the cinema this afternoon. </div>
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And I cannot emphasise enough that these things are <i>really heavy. </i>I certainly won't be bothering with any other kind of exercise today. By the time I fell- sweaty, bruised, and bleeding ever so slightly- into the flat with the fourth and final outrageously heavy and awkward-sized box, I thought I might sleep for a week. </div>
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But I didn't. I opened the boxes, took out the parts, and had just begun to build when I had a message from Dale to say that the film had finished and he was ready for me to meet him and do some errands in town. </div>
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Now we're home and, thanks to one <i>teeny, tiny </i>mistake of putting a screw in the wrong way up (I did still manage to build it), I am banned from all building duties and am only to contribute when absolutely necessary. </div>
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The upside of all this, of course, is that I am finally able to write to you to tell you all about my latest adventure: Living With a Boy. </div>
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I have lived with boys before. I've got two brothers. I naively thought that meant that I didn't have much to learn from moving in with Dale. I was wrong. </div>
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I have learnt <i>so much. </i></div>
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About Dale. About relationships. About flat packed furniture, council tax, delivery companies, home scents, toilet ducks, kitchen appliances, and more. </div>
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And here I am going to tell you all about it. </div>
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So whether you are somebody who has experienced this all yourself, is about to, or is looking forward to doing so one day, please make a cup of tea, sit back, and enjoy my Guide to Moving Into Your First Home...</div>
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Chapter 1: What I have learnt about my boyfriend, and possibly boys everywhere: </div>
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1) Size does matter. </div>
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At least when it comes to the television. </div>
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Dale chose the television, and has since told anyone and everyone who will listen what size it is. And every single male that has crossed into this flat since we moved in two weeks ago has immediately commented on how big it is, and asked for its exact measurements. </div>
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I could not be less bothered. </div>
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This morning, Dale came into the kitchen as I was washing up, kissed me on the cheek and said 'I think I'm going to buy you a special treat.' I immediately- and somewhat stupidly- thought he was going to say a creme egg. (I have serious creme egg issues, but more on that later.) </div>
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'Yes?' I replied hopefully, already thinking we could get three for a pound if we go to the right place. </div>
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"I'm going to buy you a bigger television for the spare bedroom." </div>
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We definitely do not need a bigger television for the spare bedroom. </div>
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But apparently it's important. </div>
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2) His ideas about storage are vastly different from mine. </div>
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Paint a picture in your mind. We're unpacking everything, excitedly deciding what to put where. I'm immediately reminded of a story that my parents regularly told me as a child- that the first day they lived together Mum went through all the food that she had bought and Dad was so excited to hear about it. </div>
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Dale casually points up to what we have decided is the Hot Drinks Shelf, and says 'if there's not enough room for all that coffee we could always put it in the airing cupboard.' </div>
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Now, <i>please, please </i>tell me if I have got this wrong. But I always thought the airing cupboard was for clean bath towels and bedding. The occasional beach towel, maybe. </div>
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Have I been missing something all these years by <i>not </i>keeping my tea and coffee in there?!</div>
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Answers on a postcard. </div>
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Or in a comment below. </div>
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Either is fine. </div>
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3) As hard as he tries, chores are a battle...</div>
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To my absolute delight, on our first full day in the house, I was working and Dale was at home when I received the following text message: </div>
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"You know that kind of nappy thing that you put on the mattress? I found one. Is it a single one? I couldn't get it on." </div>
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By nappy thing, he means bottom sheet. </div>
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And yes, it was a double one. </div>
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Chapter 2: What I have learnt about moving: </div>
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1) I don't want to do it again. </div>
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I was warned that if we were going to buy, we needed to make sure it was absolutely the right choice because moving is <i>expensive. </i></div>
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So we went with renting. </div>
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What I have learnt is that even moving into a rented flat costs a lot physically and emotionally. </div>
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Obviously I wasn't going in completely blind. I have moved out of my mum's plenty of times to live in all kinds of places. In an interview I once had I confidently said that I don't think any living situation could surprise me now, I've done them all. </div>
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Which is true. </div>
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But I've never moved out <i>totally </i>before. </div>
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And I've never moved anywhere unfurnished. </div>
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Which, it turns out, makes a big difference to unpacking, and to upsetting the neighbours by needing to get rid of enough cardboard to build a fort bigger than the whole block of flats put together. </div>
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Equally, we were warned that buying a house together is a bigger commitment than marriage. </div>
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Honestly? I think that filling a rented flat with flipping-hard-to-put-together flat pack furniture is a bigger commitment than marriage. Dale pointed out the other day that we can never move out because we're not taking the bed down so that we can get it through the front door again. So this is it. We're growing old here in a two bedroom, first floor flat in central Chelmsford. </div>
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2) It takes <i>ages.</i></div>
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I quite regularly meet people at work who say that they can't book an appointment because they are moving house. </div>
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For a year and a half that has bothered me. Moving takes a day. What's all the fuss about?</div>
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Now it's two weeks since moving day- moving day for <i>two adults </i>into a relatively small flat- and from where I am sitting I can see boxes, upside down chairs, screws, a couple of lamps with no bulbs, and approximately eight instruction manuals. </div>
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And I'm wondering whether going to the cinema later will be an irresponsible waste of time. </div>
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3) Chapter 3: What I have learnt about living as a grown up. </div>
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As I said above, I have moved out plenty of times before. I have rented, and I have had various homes- apartments, hotels, even tents on several occasions- provided as part of my employment- and so I thought I had lived like a grown up before. </div>
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But I have never been totally responsible for the upkeep of the entire property before. Okay, I had to keep my tent tidy (and did a great job- the team used to make fun of my tent for looking like a Guest one. Something I'm very proud of), but that didn't exactly leave me with plenty of rooms to keep on top of. </div>
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So here is what I have learnt now that I am well and truly living as an adult (disclaimer: I've no doubt I will eat my words once I am paying a mortgage.) </div>
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1) We will argue.</div>
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We were warned that we would argue. We have been together for just over two and a half years. Of course we have argued. But we were warned that moving in together heightens that. </div>
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Now I am aware that we are only two weeks in, and am sure that we will argue about lots more things than this. </div>
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But so far, here are the wonderful arguments that we have had: </div>
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*Moving is stressful vs No it isn't. </div>
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*Delivery companies are stupid vs No they aren't. </div>
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*Recycling is worth it vs Just chuck it all in the same place. </div>
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*Hollywood Studios isn't worth going to now vs YES IT STILL IS.</div>
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*Home scents matter vs They are a stupid waste of money.</div>
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*Here is everything that's happening in my work right now vs Stop talking about work. It's the weekend. </div>
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*Craig David is on the radio, nice treat! vs Where have you been? He's everywhere right now. </div>
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*Making the bed is worth it vs It's a stupid waste of time. </div>
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2) There are more home scent options than homes in the whole of the UK. </div>
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I have found myself tearing my hair out in the supermarket, watching as other women have confidently marched up to the shelf and taken the one they are sure is going to make their house smell beautiful. Absolutely no hesitation. </div>
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Who do I trust? Febreze? AmbiPur? Airwick? Does a brand name matter? Can I get one I've never heard of? Do I want a plug in? A ball? A stand alone? Then what scent? Is it really going to smell like Fresh Linen? What on <i>earth </i>does <i>Frost Pine </i>smell like? Will apple cinnamon be overpowering? </div>
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Do there need to be so many options? </div>
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I've spent an absolute fortune. </div>
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On Saturday evening I was in the lounge and Dale heard- from the <i>kitchen- </i>a click so familiar that he immediately shouted 'please do not tell me you have bought another scent?' </div>
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To save you any research I would highly recommend Ambi Pur 3volution in Cotton Fresh. </div>
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The same applies to Toilet Duck and Toilet Bleach, but I haven't done the research yet. Any wisdom you can pass on would be highly appreciated. </div>
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3) You're expected to Just Know. </div>
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On day three we put our rubbish where it seemed obvious it should go, only to get a rather snotty note put on the wall for all residents to read. (Nobody will ever know it was us, but still.) </div>
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We don't know how or when to start paying council tax (we have now registered- don't panic), who or when we start paying for electricity and water (we only know there are two companies involved because Pumbaa and Baloo were unlucky enough to have water issues over Christmas and told us as part of that story), how and where we recycle (I am not exaggerating about the amount of cardboard we have), or where we supposed to park. </div>
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Why does nobody tell you this stuff? </div>
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Why wasn't this a part of General Studies at college? </div>
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Okay, they couldn't have told me specifically where to park outside my future house but I could have done with a lesson or two on which questions to ask the Estate Agent. </div>
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Right? </div>
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Chapter Four: What I have learnt about buying furniture. </div>
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1) It turns you into your mother. </div>
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I am now fascinated by the inside of other people's houses. I take a moment to appreciate everything from the shade of the wood that they chose for their side tables to the type of lighting they went for, all the way down to their soap dispenser and scent. Because it will cost a <i>lot </i>of thought and a lot of money, and I want to decide which ideas I want to steal for my own home. </div>
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I also find myself saying things like 'has that got a coaster underneath it?' and 'I've just hoovered in there! Shoes off!' </div>
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Exactly in her voice. </div>
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2) There is a huge gap in the market for a delivery company that can arrive on the day that they say they will. </div>
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I understand that they are travelling far and wide and I am fiercely passionate about lorries not being on such tight schedules that they risk lives, but at the same time, people have things to do beside wait for a towel delivery. </div>
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Don't tell me I have to book the day off work Tuesday because that's the day you can deliver, and then tell me at 9pm on Tuesday that you won't make it until Thursday. </div>
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Does anybody else feel an uncontrollable wave of rage that this happens every single day across the country?! How do these companies function? How do people <i>ever </i>have things delivered? </div>
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We had to just cancel one order in the end because <i>three separate days </i>they said they had 'attempted a delivery' but failed, despite the fact that we had been in all day. </div>
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Dale doesn't mind. </div>
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"They do function. They function and make money because this is how it has worked for years," is what he says calmly as I pull out my laptop just a little bit too aggressively and begin vigorously typing another complaint email. </div>
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Despite his complacency, we as a household have decided to boycott online shopping. Haven't we Dale? </div>
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*He's looking at me blankly.*</div>
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3) Flat Pack Furniture is not as fun as it sounds. </div>
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Over the years I have quite often heard radio shout outs for people staying in on a Saturday night to build their new bed/wardrobe/chest of drawers, and I have always thought 'what a lovely excuse for a night in. It sounds quite fun.' </div>
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I do like having a to do list, and I like working hard and being able to look at something I have produced (hence the creation of my blog), so you'd think it would be right up my street. </div>
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It's not. </div>
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In my head I always imagined having a takeaway, the radio on, following instructions and proudly watching as the results come together. </div>
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Actually what happens is that everything is delivered so far apart, and everything takes so long to build, that if we had a takeaway every time we built something we wouldn't fit through the front door anymore, let alone afford the rent. </div>
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So, genuinely, last night we had a building furniture snack of carrots and broccoli. </div>
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The instructions don't really make any sense. </div>
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You're not sure that you want to risk interpreting the coded diagrams wrongly in stage one in case you get to stage four before you realise your mistake, but unless you decide something you can't get anything done. </div>
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The second person also rarely has much to do, so I found myself staring absent mindedly and chewing on carrots for at least half of the time that I was 'helping' build the bed. </div>
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And it's never ending. </div>
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Also, this might be just us, but has anyone else ever had to add in an additional step to their DIY involving super glue? </div>
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Chapter Five: What I have learnt about myself. </div>
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1) I do have a Cadbury's Creme Egg problem. </div>
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It's something that I was always vaguely aware of- but it's not until you live with one person and one person only, who is providing you with almost permanent attention, that you realise which of your habits are issues. </div>
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It was when Dale eventually mentioned that he had found some receipts lying around that he was concerned about that I realised my struggle is real. I am addicted to Cadbury's Creme Eggs. </div>
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Be kind, please. This is always a tricky time of year for those of us belonging to CCE Anonymous. </div>
<br />2) It turns out my dream was always achievable.<br />
<br />For the past few months I have insisted that this is all too good to be true. Dale and I? Living <i>together? </i>In a beautiful flat that we can afford? Near my friends and family? Near the job I love? No way, something is going to go drastically wrong.<br />
<br />Except, (and I hate to curse it here), it hasn't.<br />
<br />This is it, this is life now.<br />
<br />I wake up to that gorgeous face every single day, and I feel so overwhelmed with happiness at every tiny thing- at being able to moan about building furniture and stupid delivery companies, at being able to go to work knowing that no matter what goes wrong I will be back at home with the best person in the world this evening, at seeing his toothbrush in the little white cup that we chose together, and the Toy Story mugs that he so proudly chose sitting in the cupboard.<br />
<br />And the world hasn't stopped.<br />
<br />The Earth is still turning and allowing me to enjoy every second.<br />
<br />Three years ago I wrote:<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">"Maybe in three years time I'll be wishing I could come back to this day- right now. The day that I spent making an Ugly Bug Ball with the gorgeous two year old that I Nanny for. Maybe I'll be wishing I could go back and live in Florida again. (I'm quite sure I'll be wishing that one.) Or maybe I'll have learnt to just be grateful for where I am.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /></i></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">After all....I'll be twenty-six by then. And that's </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">really </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">grown up :)"</span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">I vaguely remembered that I had written something about being more grown up by twenty six, so a few weeks ago I opened up this post to read it to Dale. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">I got as far as the first word of the last sentence before tears started streaming down my cheeks and my voice cracked so that I couldn't read it any more. Because somehow, without even realising...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">3) My prediction about myself had come true. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">I had forgotten that I used to desperately wish that I could go back to every part of my life and live it again.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"> Not long before I re-read that post I had said to someone at work that I actually don't find myself wishing desperately that I could go and live in Florida again. It was </span><i style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">so </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">wonderful, but so is now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Last week, I was just about to go to bed when Dale burst into the bedroom: "DisneyParksBlog are live streaming Fantasmic! It's on at 7pm in Orlando which is twenty minutes. Think you can stay up?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Fantasmic is my absolute favourite show in the entire world. It's just amazing, and I have actively avoided the music since I left because if anything is going to make me desperate to go back, it's that. So my first thoughts here were- 1) How did I <i>ever </i>find a boyfriend as enthusiastic and more knowledgeable about Disney than me? and 2) Am I going to face the music (so to speak) and watch it again?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><i>Obviously </i>I did. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">And it brought back so many Florida memories. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">One of which was the constant fear I had that the magic would disappear the second I landed back on UK soil, and would take Dale with it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Watching it with Dale in <i>our </i>bed in <i>our </i>(albeit rented) flat almost three years after the adventure started brought it home to me: the adventure is <i>never going to end </i>because I brought the souvenir holding all that magic home with me- all five foot ten of it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">And so finally, age twenty-six, I have learnt to just be grateful for where I am...and that's really grown up :) </span></span><br />
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Rebecca Lundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714437382426308091noreply@blogger.com0