Future Conditional

It's September 2014 and I am at an assessment day for a grown up job. The first grown up job I've had since 2010. The brilliantly animated MD of the company is standing at the front warning us of what we might be taking on if we are successful and choose to accept the position.

"You are going to take this work home with you. You are going to wake up in the middle of the night concerned about whether or not you made the right decision about Little Jamie's national curriculum levels. You will think about work on your days off, and have a lot to get done during the week."

Fast forward thirteen months.

It's my weekend and I feel compelled to write a blog post about my job.

My parents, brothers, and boyfriend know the ins and outs of my job as though they do it themselves, so much do I feel the need to talk about it. My dad and boyfriend, in particular, probably feel that listening to me go on about my job is an extra full time job that they took on the day that I accepted it.

I work with children, ladies and gents, and I work in education, and with that comes huge responsibility and a lot of laughter.

Over the past few weeks I have seen several plays related to working with children and in education, and both gave me a lot to think about.

The first was Matilda. If you haven't seen it, go. It's wonderful. (Disclaimer: if you seriously love the movie or the book of Matilda, still consider going, but cautiously. It's not the same, and hearts may break.)

Matilda explores the importance of education, and the importance of those who work in the field, in a bright, colourful and fun musical with a catchy soundtrack and outrageously talented children.

It's beautiful, and there were a few times that the lyrics well and truly got me (mainly during the song 'When I Grow Up' which I'm sure I will use in a future blog.)

It left me with that distinct, 'children are wonderful and I am so lucky I get to work with them every day' feeling, and made me count the ways that my job is so magical....

1) The children make me laugh. So much.

I quite regularly ask the children if they have any questions. Obviously I mean about their work. This week I did get plenty of questions about maths and English but to my absolute delight I was also asked...

a) Are you a vegetarian or a meat eater?

b) What's your favourite colour?

And

c) Rebecca, which of Spiderman's powers do you think are most impressive?


2) Every day contains at least one surreal sentence. I know that I have mentioned this regarding previous jobs with children, but my favourites from my current job are below. All of the sentences below were said by an adult to a child, but please imagine, as you read this, that I don't work with children, that all of these were said in an office job involving other adults:

a) 'Please stop eating the chairs.'

b) 'We do not do drum rolls on other people's heads.'

c) 'Where's Gary? Oh he's...he's under the table.'

d) 'My name's not Tracey. It's Jasmine. Stop calling me Tracey.'

e) 'I'm sorry I said that I think the Wonder Gecko is the best lizard. You're right, now that I have read up on it I agree that it is actually quite a disgusting creature.'

f) ''I know that the story is going to be about detectives because Rebecca told me' is not a good enough answer to your comprehension, Gary.'

g) 'You didn't go abroad? Just to Spain? Oh right.'

(You'll notice I used the name Gary. I'm sure you've heard the big news lately that there have been no new Garys since 1999, so you can be assured I'm keeping everyone totally anonymous.)


3) I always know where I stand.

I was once explaining to a child why his behaviour was not acceptable. He tipped his head to the side and replied 'your hair looks stupid like that.' That evening Dale and I went out for dinner. As we walked into the restaurant I caught myself in the mirror. He had been right. My hair looked ridiculous like that.

A couple of weeks ago a child said to my manager: 'I really, really like you.'

When was the last time someone said that to your face within five minutes of meeting you?

4) I know I make a difference.

I know I make a difference because I work with people, and everyone who works with people makes a difference. But I also know I make a difference because the children tell me every day. See point number three again.

5) I really, really care about every aspect of my job.

Which brings me to the second play that I saw that revolves around education and children.

Future Conditional. 

Future Conditional is Rob Brydon's latest project and it's wonderful.

I thought that the name Future Conditional was particularly brilliant. I feel the need to say this because I heard a pompous theatre snob saying he didn't feel it was strong enough for the play. I think the reason he didn't feel it was strong enough is that he didn't understand it. It wasn't aimed at pompous theatre snobs, it was aimed at people in education. I therefore did the very British thing of explaining it particularly loudly to Dale as we walked past him. Future conditional is a tense in English (I'll not explain it now. Partly because I did just write it all out and realise it would be quite boring to read, partly because a teeny part of me is terrified I'll explain it wrong. Still, it's a key part of the English language and something that children learn at school, that's all you need to know). It also refers to the fact that children are permanently told that their future depends on their learning and behaviour now- it will be positive under the conditions that they work hard, and negative if they don't. It also refers to how our future, the future of our country, rides on current pupils in our schools. Genius title.

It actually wasn't particularly easy watching for me. During the interval Dale asked whether I would be recommending it to colleagues, and I told him no. It was too stressful. Too close to home. Then  at one point when the rest of the audience (clearly not people with my job) were laughing, Dale leant over and told me I looked like I was going to burst into tears. I was watching discussions that I have every day play out in front of me. I was listening to debates that I'm asked my opinion on every week, and was having to bite my tongue to not shout out from the audience. (It was a very intimate theatre. It felt possible.)

It was hard to watch and stirred emotions in me as no other play ever has.

At the end I watched potentially the most emotive scene I've ever watched.

It was about a teacher- which I am not- but I related to it. As a Nanny, an Activity Instructor, a Beaver leader, even a babysitter, and as part of my current job. He explained how much he cares about every child. Every single one. And that he doesn't forget them easily, and never stops rooting for them. He is always on their side.

People do not work with children for the money. As my MD said back on that day in September 2014, working with children- and particularly in education- involves waking up in the night worrying about them, thinking about it at all hours, calling work on your day off because you've just remembered something and want to check up on it, worrying all the time that you're not there.

A few weeks ago my manager saw a child that she used to work with. The child's mother was absolutely flabbergasted that she remembered the child. Of course she did! It was a year ago but they spent a lot of time together. Chances are my manager woke up in the night worrying about that child, and spent her weekends thinking about how she could help her.

Parents regularly call up and say 'hello, my name is Kristen, my son Gary comes to you.' I know! I know that your name is Kristen, I know your husband's name is Fred, I know that you have just got two puppies called Pickle and Sausage, and that Sausage is a bit of a nightmare. I know that Gary does karate on a Wednesday and basketball on a Friday, that his favourite dinosaur is a triceratops, and that he is left handed and so finds using a mouse tricky. I know all of this and have spent my weekend thinking about how we could get triceratops stickers to motivate him, and that I must order a pencil grip for him, and I woke up last night thinking maybe we could put a red dot on the side of the mouse that he should click to remind him and help him get into the habit.

But of course Kristen isn't to know that.

To her I'm just a (hopefully) nice lady that is there when he is dropped off and picked up at one of the many places that he goes to, and that he occasionally talks about on the way home.

But I genuinely care. I build his confidence and I listen to his stories, I ask him questions and I answer his brilliant ones to the best of my ability. I laugh out loud at his jokes, celebrate his achievements and spend time reassuring him over the disappointments. I watch out for his safety and well being, and occasionally (very occasionally in my current job, thank goodness, but more often in previous jobs) clear up his sick and his pee. And that's before I've taught him anything even remotely related to the national curriculum.

And through it all- through every second of it- I have his best interests at heart, and know that the decision to take the job thirteen months ago was an absolutely brilliant one- constant worry and all.

This is my future- unconditional- the one that I worked hard through my entire school life for- and I am loving every second of being a part of shaping the conditional futures of these children.

Of course my future continues to be conditional and always will be.

But for the moment, what a happy ending to my first grown up adventure :)

Flying Without Wings

This evening I came home to post.

Depending on your age, I imagine this will mean different things to you. 

Post as a child is the Best. Thing. Ever. Because it normally means that it's either your birthday or Christmas.

Post in your twenties (for those of us who have not fully grown up yet) consists of a mixed bag of phone bills, wedding and christening invitations, and the occasional catalogue from the company that you gave your email address to when you were sixteen and who haven't quite got the hint yet. (The envelope is normally handwritten on that last one and for a few brilliant seconds you think it's a surprise package. It never is.) 

Which is why this evening I was delighted to find an exciting piece of post on the kitchen side. Addressed to me. Handwritten, but clearly not selling anything. It's not my birthday. And even Monica didn't get her Christmas cards out in September. 

What could it be? 

It was an anniversary card. 

A ten year anniversary card. 

From Pumbaa. 

Pumbaa is one of my five best friends and one of the five best people on the entire planet. 

And I was lucky enough to meet her ten years ago this week. 

And she remembered, and she sent me a flipagram video of our years together, and then she sent me a card. To my house. She saw me yesterday. She's seeing me tomorrow. But she made it magical by putting it in the post. 

I imagine that from what I've said so far you will have an idea of just how wonderful my friends are. 

Recently I have been quite stressed, and have been- as Dale puts it- a little bit of a Negative Nancy as a result. During this time they were talking on the radio about those things in life that give you a rush of love for the world and make you feel overwhelming grateful that you were in that place at that time. 

Upon hearing this on the radio, I have looked out for those magical moments in my own world.

I had one at work, when I had to- dead seriously- use the sentence "we do not do drumrolls on other children's heads' and then immediately realised that I have the best job in the world. 

I had one at my Mum's, when Mowgli and I both said at the exact same time "I can't take her seriously with that haircut". About the dog.

I had one at my dad's, when Dale woke me up with pancakes and actual wrapped up presents for no reason at all. 

But the biggest proportion of what I call my Flying Without Wings moments, are down to my best friends. 

(They're called this, in case you hadn't realised, because those moments are exactly what the 90s Westlife song is about. Westlife are actually very wise.) 

I was recently on the verge of tears in Minnie Mouse's living room, absolutely devastated about something that had happened, at a loss as to how to handle it. Minnie and Pumbaa laughed their heads off, and managed to make me literally laugh my despair away. 

Sometimes, Lady Adelaide will very seriously explain to me the order in which she ranks Pixar films and why. 

At least once a week, Jiminy Cricket will message me with something magical that happened to her in London. Last week, when I received her Magical Text, it came with a picture of a baby scan. 

When I was sixteen and I left school to go to a college that it took me a train and an outrageously long bus journey to get to so that I could 'meet new people', one particular family friend continually told me that it was very brave, and that he was super impressed. 

I couldn't understand why. I didn't think it was brave at all, it just felt like the right thing- something I have to justify quite regularly to the logical people around me. 

But it was the right thing.

Because it was there, at that college, aged sixteen, that I met Pumbaa, Minnie Mouse, Lady Adelaide, Jiminy Cricket, and Rex. 

And I wouldn't be me without them. 

I remember when I was about ten reading in a magazine that Ant and Dec had been best friends since they were fourteen. I thought fourteen was a ridiculous age to meet your best friend. Surely you've made all your friends by the time you're fourteen?! That was very late. 

Now, of course, I know that meeting your best friends for life when you're sixteen is outrageously young. And I just cannot believe my luck that I met them all in the same building. 

I have written a post before on how we all met so I won't bore you with that again. Instead, enjoy the top ten moments I have shared with the best people in the entire world over the past ten years...

1) 2005: The Year We Met. I thought Pumbaa was a Mature Student. Minnie Mouse told me I looked a fool. Everybody knew Lady Adelaide and I couldn't believe she would ever be my friend. I forgot Jiminy Cricket's name and only remembered when we simultaneously put our hands up and called 'that's me' when our Psychology teacher called out 'Rebecca?' Rex was just about the coolest person I had ever met because he, unlike everybody else I had ever spoken to, knew a song by Goo Goo Dolls that wasn't Iris, and had heard of John Mayer outside of celebrity gossip pages. 

2) 2006: Getting drunk in aid of the World Cup. Because that's what you do when you're 17. I had bright blonde hair and bushman eyebrows. I drank a "Pumbaa" measure of Vodka and Coke at her house straight from college. I fell over, in front of her mum, at 5 in the afternoon. Whilst attempting to act sober. Then we went to a pub where we got beer poured over us every time a goal was scored, and I had to get the train home alone smelling like an empty pub post smoking ban. It's genuinely one of my favourite memories. 

3) 2007: The Year of Parties: The year you turn eighteen your social life goes out of control. Even if you're the youngest like I am. I had a party to go to every Friday and Saturday night for a whole year. Which left lunch breaks and free periods to plan my own party down to the last song.  

4) 2008: The Holiday. Pumbaa and I went to Spain for five days and our lives changed forever. We drank too much, ate too much, showed our true colours (I genuinely believe it was Pumbaa who coined the term 'hangry' after five days with me), fell in love with the boys in the room opposite, and then laughed at the memories for the next seven years. 

Just to be clear: this is not the boy we fell in love with. 

5) 2009: The Big Holiday. This time, four of us went. It's a blur of cocktails, laughter, sand, and, unfortunately, singing. One of my favourite pastimes when hanging out with Lady Adelaide is to cringe at singing 'We love you Essex we do' dancing down a street on a Greek Island. We probably feature on some awful secret channel 4 documentary. 

6) 2010: The First Engagement. Jiminy and Rex- four years after I had first introduced them (I know, what a hero) were the first of my friends to get engaged. Rex set up a treasure hunt around a hotel room that eventually led to a ring <3 

7) 2011: Radio One. We went onto Feet Up Friday with Greg James and it was an absolute dream. When Greg and I are married I'm sure we'll laugh at the memories. 

8) 2012: 2012 was a hard year. All five of them sent flowers to Ireland, where I was living, to cheer me up. Lady Adelaide got on a plane, brought a suitcase full of chocolate and the DVD Bridesmaids and turned up at the front door. 

9) 2013: The Year of The Mouse: I was away for the entirety of 2013, and still these absolute heroes trooped on with the job of being best pals with a restless wanderer. We had Skype dates, whatsapp groups, shared albums. They received pictures and sound bites and all kinds of nonsense from their overexcited friend. And I received a picture of an engagement ring. 

10) 2014: The Year of the Wedding. Pumbaa found Baloo. Minnie found Mickey. Lady Adelaide found Mufasa, and of course, Rex already had Jiminy. In 2014 every single one of my best friends got married. It was one of the most magical years of my life so far. At the time I thought it might be the most magical year ever.

But then in 2015 Minnie Mouse gave birth to Jack-Jack. Pumbaa bought her first house. Rex and Jiminy announced their pregnancy, and Lady Adelaide threw me the most thoughtful, magical twenty-sixth birthday party. The Flying Without Wings moments have kept coming.

These people have been there through everything. The good, the bad, and the truly hideous, and still want to be friends with me, still make my world magical every day.

What makes you feel like you're flying without wings? 

I imagine it's a person. Or people. 

Tell them. Right now. Text them, call them, hug them, kiss them. Squeeze them until you're concerned for their health. 

And look out for the times you think you might have made someone else feel that way. 

Because you do make other people feel that way. 

We just don't tell each other very often. 

There's a section of that truly devastating episode of 8 Simple Rules where they find the last article that Paul wrote before he died. It says this: 

"I know, that whenever my kids insult me, whether it's a 'you're an idiot', 'what a geek', or even 'I hate you', I know that an 'I love you' isn't far behind. And it's the knowledge that my wife and kids love me that makes it safe for me to wear pyjamas and black socks to the breakfast table.'

Do you know what told me, more than anything else, that Pumbaa must really love me? 

At the end of the card, she wrote 'P.S. Sorry for any spelling mistakes.' 

For someone to know very well that despite the thought, effort and kindness that went into that card, I would be checking it for spelling mistakes, and still want to send it, and still want anything  to do with me, is just as special to me as a having an 'I love you Rebecca' banner flapping on the back of  a plane. 

Except that I don't need the plane. Thanks to these magical characters, I'm flying without wings <3 

Believe

Don’t believe everything you hear.

That’s what we’re told from a young age, right?

And I am the first to admit that I tend not to believe anything I hear without good solid proof. I don’t want to be taken for a fool. No wool is being pulled over my eyes, thank you very much. 

My personal need for explanation comes from two places:

       1) Being Mowgli’s sister. Mowgli is a first class wind up merchant and loves nothing more than to laugh at the people he loves. Which means that as his big sister I have been the brunt of many hilarious jokes, including him once telling me in front of a room full of football supporters (I’m not one I’m afraid. Nothing against them, just never got involved) that a team I’d never heard of had won against a team I had vaguely heard of. I replied with the standard ‘oh right, brilliant!’ (Not in a sarcastic voice, I hasten to add. I’ve always attempted to feign some kind of interest to keep my brothers talking to me) and everyone laughed because of course the team I’ve never heard of hadn't won against Real Madrid. Duh.

So that’s left me scarred for life, and is the reason that I would now need to know everything about both teams and hear the score from a source besides my brothers before I made a decision about whether this was true. It is also the reason that I really dislike people talking about things I don’t understand and therefore have personality trait number 2….

       2)Being interested in everything. I need to know about everything. Got an opinion? I want to know why you’ve got that opinion. I want to find people who have the opposite opinion and find out why they have it. I want to talk to as many people as possible about it and think about it for days and then I want my own opinion. I want to read and talk and listen to facts and opinions and then share mine. I mentally write blog posts every single day on various topics that I’m still deciding my opinion on that never see the light of day. My best friends regularly receive ‘you’re in this situation, what would you do?’ messages- it’s not a situation I’m in, it’s come from something I’ve been discussing and I want their honest opinion. Sometimes I’ll just ask an opinion and people will think I’m trying to argue. I’m not. The other day I asked my dad his opinion on a very controversial topic and actually his opinion totally matched mine. But when I asked him how he got to that opinion he replied, totally uncharacteristically, “I just do!” until I told him I agree. Then he gave a perfectly acceptable reason.

Anyway, the point is that I am a terrible culprit for needing to understand everything.

But recently I have begun to think that maybe there’s a fine line between avoiding being taken for a fool and actually missing out on a whole lot.

Because recently a lot of magical things have happened around me, and I’ve found myself questioning how much I believe in it…

1)      Literal magic.  Dale and I took a relatively new but very important character- Abu- to see Impossible- a West End show involving the world’s leading five magicians blowing our minds. They cut women in half, read minds, made huge objects disappear (I’m being deliberately vague in case you decide to see it) and broke all laws of gravity. I spent at least half of the show trying to work out how they were doing it.

2)      Other-worldly magic. I saw a medium. I am not wanting to discuss the merits or otherwise of seeing a medium, and any comments on my blog site or on any of my social media pages regarding an opinion on this will be immediately deleted. But I spent the whole time trying to justify everything that was said to me. When I couldn't find my phone during the break I was absolutely convinced that the medium had taken my phone and that was how she knew so much about me. I’d left it on the kitchen side in my dad’s house.

3)      Future magic. Similar to the one above, I guess. I had my cards read. This was actually last November, and whenever I’ve mentioned it to people since they've suggested all kinds of solutions as to how she could have described my job with better precision than I can. But that’s what we do, naturally. When I tell people about my experience, saying I just have no idea how she could have known so much, they want to explain it to me, for their own peace of mind. Maybe the organiser of the charity event that this was at took time out amongst all the organising and her full time job to Facebook stalk me and pass everything on to the lady before I went. Maybe she overheard my friends discussing at length what I do- because that’s what my friends do with their time. Discuss my job. Maybe she secretly asked the girl who was in there before me- who happened to be my best friend- what I do.

Or maybe we will never know how she knew. And maybe that’s okay.

After all this wondering, thinking, rethinking, questioning, discussing, writing, reading, and listening, I realised.

I don’t need to know the answer.

The performers in the magic show weren't pulling any wool over my eyes. They weren't trying to trick or hurt me. They weren't trying to keep anything from me, or make me look a fool. They were trying to make my ordinary life feel a little bit extraordinary for a day. They were trying to get me excited about something, to make me feel that there’s more to life, and that I was impressed. That my constantly working mind couldn't work this out because it was just magic. 

Mediums, card-readers. They’re not trying to make me out to be an idiot, or to get my hopes up for nothing. If it turns out that none of its true, that there is some kind of trick behind it like the London show, what harm did it do? It reassured me at a time that I clearly needed to be reassured, and gave me hope that I didn’t realise I had been desperate to be given.

Who cares how real it is?

Now this was a big revelation for me, as someone who needs to know everything. 

But there's one area that I've always embraced my desire for less knowledge and more magic. 

Disney.

Much to the amusement of everyone I know that works and has worked for Disney, I hate knowing backstage secrets. I loved working for Disney and everyone that meets me says that they can totally imagine it, but actually the part of both of my jobs for Disney that I hated was knowing what’s Behind the Magic.

There are endless social media posts and blogs that claim to reveal these secrets. My best friend recently sent me a screen shot of one asking whether they were true. They weren’t. But not many people would get the truth out of me anyway, I hate hearing secrets and I hate giving them away.

And I don’t understand people’s obsession with knowing the truth behind the magic.

I recently heard that the reason that men have historically wanted to know the truth behind magic tricks is that they wanted to be able to explain things to their wives. I did say historically. I think it’s the same with Disney. People don’t want to know for themselves, they want to know so that they can tell other people, and because- as I mentioned- they're so frightened of being taken for fools. 

Remember when you were little, and believed in everything? 

What a magical time that was. And I wouldn't change it for the world. It didn't make me foolish or gullible, it made every day exciting. 

When I was a Nanny I used to come out with all sorts to make life fun for the children, and I do often wonder how old they'll be before they realise they're not true. 

I once took them on a hunt for evidence that reindeer had been around looking at the house. We found it everywhere. And now, four years later, even I still subconsciously acknowledge that random grooves in the pavement mean reindeer have been here. 

Equally I wonder whether in fifteen years time they will be adults eating their shepherd's pie thinking it will make them a cowboy. 

I began thinking about the things that I believed as a child. Of course we all had Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, square eyes from watching television and curly hair from eating our veg, but some of my nearest and dearest had some absolutely brilliant beliefs when they were little...

1) All the clever people work in London, and the capital city is full of geniuses. This friend learnt the hard way that this is not true when she witnessed a grown man walking straight into a pole at 9 in the morning. 

2) Tea is for women and coffee is for men. 

3) If you swallow a fruit seed that fruit will proceed to grow in your tummy. There was an episode of The Rugrats in which Chuckie swallowed a watermelon seed and exactly that happened. Cue fear in children everywhere. 

4) Being a policeman is definitely the best job because policemen live forever. 

5) Going to the hairdresser is only for teenagers.  

6) Power generators that have smoke coming out of the top of them are actually cloud making machines. 

7) Lorry drivers and bearded men are secretly monsters.

8) The moon really is made of cheese and there really is a little man who lives on there on his own.

9) Radio involves a series of performers singing there and then for the presenter. 

10) This last one actually isn't really a belief, but it really made me laugh when one friend messaged me saying that she thought the lyrics to the Mickey Mouse March were M-I-C Katie White M-O-U-S-E. 

Brilliant. 

So this is me, lovely readers, declaring that I am going to embrace belief. I am, for once, not going to vow to be more grown up, but am going to vow to be more childlike. I am going to stop being so scared of others making a fool of me (I do enough of that myself, no idea why I worry really), and am going to accept the magic around me at face value. 

I believe that it will make me less sceptical. 

I believe that it will make my ordinary life more extraordinary. 

And I believe that it will make me happier <3 

     

Be The Change

I have noticed recently that it is the height of fashion to be offended.

It seems that if everybody is not catering to your every whim, you have every right to be angry about it. To write about it. To declare to everyone that you are offended. To erase the oh-so-offensive person from your life. 

I have seen people write Facebook statuses: 'anyone who expresses the opinion that [insert opinion here] will be deleted.' 

Seriously? Is that what you do in real life? I happen to know that I disagree, on a few fairly hefty subjects, with my grandparents. Would that be good reason to tell them that I don't think that we should spend time together any more? The fact that they are all round brilliant people, that they make me laugh and they send my self-esteem through the roof is not enough if they do not one hundred per cent agree with everything that I believe in? 

I understand that it may be slightly different if it's a girl you went to Primary School with and haven't actually seen for twenty years, but still. I imagine that even if she doesn't agree with every single one of your strong opinions it doesn't mean that she's a nasty person. That she deserves to notice that you deleted her from your life without any explanation. 

I did actually have a moment of doubt myself recently. A friend put a status declaring that he was angry about gay marriage being legalised in America. I read it to my mum and her boyfriend, shocked and horrified. Not so much that he had a different opinion from me, but that he had felt a need to post it at the height of the majority's excitement. I told my mum and her boyfriend that I wasn't sure what to do about it. They said, quite rightly, do nothing. 

I sat and thought about it. Of course. I think that if I had an opinion that well and truly went against the majority I probably wouldn't choose that moment to share it. But that doesn't mean that I have to do anything about his opinion. I read his reasons, I thought about them, I hugely disagreed with them. 

And then I accepted it. 

It's okay that we have different opinions. Because a lot of the time, the rest of the things that he posts make me smile. He's a nice person. We're not good friends, I don't see him ever, and will never see him again. (He was a random add after an evening sat next to each other in the library in 2010. We all have them.) But actually the thought of not following his life any more- not hearing about his adventures and knowing what he's doing now, made me feel quite sad. 

I've read a lot of posts that say that Facebook stops us communicating in  real life. There is always- without exception- somebody that writes on Father's Day- 'don't do your dad a Facebook status this year- tell him in real life.' 

Believe it or not- I'd say most people do both. 

In my house, at least, we don't all search for old photos, think carefully about what we want to say to the world about our dad, post it for everyone to see, and then sit with him at lunch and fail to acknowledge the special day. He does still, of course, get a card and a present and a lunch and a hug. Facebook is just an extra way to celebrate.

Equally, I don't believe that Facebook stops us communicating in real life to old friends, either. 

If I didn't have Facebook there's no way I would still be in  contact with that random lad that I met in the library five years ago. I probably wouldn't be in contact with people that I lived with for four months in France. I wouldn't know what my closest friends from university were doing- I know that, because some of them don't have Facebook and I haven't spoken to them for five years. 

I appreciate that maybe pre-internet we would have written letters, or used the home phone to call them. But since university I have lived in eleven different cities. I have had close friends in every one of those cities. If I had to phone and write letters to keep up with all of them I wouldn't be able to hold down a full time job. 

And actually I tend to care about everyone I meet. If it were up to me I would speak to everyone that I've ever met every day. I love that I can keep up with everyone's weddings and babies, their new jobs and travels- it is amazing that I know that my old neighbour's niece was born last week. 

I have, desperately sadly, also managed to offend people with my endlessly happy and positive blog posts. There are only a couple of incidents of this- as far as I know- but they were so unintended I cannot even begin to explain. 

I speak to people almost every day that are offended by what I do as a job. Last year, when I was working at The Lion King, somebody told me that they thought that my job was despicable, disgustingly unethical. The next day I was at a wedding and mentioned that this had happened. You can imagine the reaction of the make up artist when my answer to 'oh my goodness, what on earth do you do?!' was 'work in a Disney merchandise shop.' 

In my current job people are offended because I don't teach French to adults, which is really what they need and it's highly inconvenient that that's not what I do. I'd make a killing if I did decide to do that because that's what's needed round here. 

(I wouldn't, because I can't speak French. It would be like when Joey from Friends tries to teach dance.) 

Actually what I find offensive is that everybody thinks that their opinion is necessary. 

I believe that the internet has given us all a false sense of importance. My mum's opinion on what I do for a job means the whole world to me. If she was disgusted with me then ohmygoodness I just wouldn't be doing it. That woman that approached me at The Lion King to tell me she thought my job was disgusting really didn't need to tell me that. Why does she think I would care about her opinion? Does she think I would go and hand my notice in there and then because of her opinion? I'm sure her opinion is valued somewhere in her world. At her own job. With her own family. But not for me. Especially as she didn't even have a ticket. She had come in to the theatre precisely to tell me her opinion on selling merchandise. I genuinely don't care what she thinks, and I didn't go and hand in my  notice. 

But it doesn't mean that I didn't go and cry on my break, and then proceed to think about it for the next fifteen months. 

So all she succeeded in doing was ruining my day. 

Same as these outrageous trolls on the internet. I can't even believe that they exist. Have you ever seen the feature on Jimmy Kimmel Live where he has celebrities read out the nasty tweets that they have received? The feature itself is brilliant in that it is a reminder that what is typed into the keyboard is received by an actual human being, and it shows how ridiculous and unfounded these mean messages are, but the fact that it can exist is just the most outrageous thing I've ever heard. 

Does the middle aged woman from Texas really think that Gwyneth Paltrow cares about her opinion on her nose? Does the teenager from New York think that Lena Dunham cares what he thinks of her body? 

Because neither of them actually care about those individuals' opinions. But I imagine they were fairly hurt that somebody had taken the time to write and send them. 

Somebody wrote a nasty message on one of my blog posts once. Which I know comes with the territory, and is something that I had been ready for. This person was a friend of a friend, clearly unhinged, has a bit of a reputation, not somebody that I will ever meet. 

But it doesn't mean that I wasn't gutted. 

It seems to me that because everybody thinks that they are entitled to an opinion on everything, even things they know nothing about, even things that nobody cares for their thoughts on, nastiness is being accepted just now. 

It's something to expect if you're out there, doing something, trying to make a difference, trying your best. 

I absolutely disagree.  I think if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. 

There's the age old saying that you shouldn't judge a person until you've walked a mile in their shoes. At the moment it's been rewritten and is being shared left, right and centre on the internet using far more dramatic language along the lines of: you have no idea of the battles I'm facing, I use a smile to cover it but it's the people who smile the most that are hiding the biggest problems. Something like that. 

I fear that even that now, is being shared as a way of saying 'I'm far worse off than you, just consider that when you're with me, won't you?' 

I think that what we need to remember is that we are all facing battles that others don't know about. Every single one of us. So instead of harping on about the battles that we are facing, perhaps we ought to be thinking that with every single person that we meet. 

Maybe we didn't get the best waitress service today because she had horrendous news on her way into work. Maybe that driver didn't say thank you when you let him out because he's just driven away from his marriage. Maybe you haven't heard from that friend for a while because they're under so much stress at work. 

This is me telling the world that I am trying my best. I am trying to be the best friend, sister, daughter, colleague, granddaughter, employee, auntie and girlfriend that I can be. I'm trying to keep everyone happy. 

Chances are I am thinking of you every day. Every time I sneeze I think of the girl from secondary school who used to say 'bless-you-me' and then laugh her head off. I've been meaning to message her for ages to see how she is but never actually get round to it. Every time we have a child in work with the same name as your child, I think of you. And I think that I must message you to see how he's getting on, but then I get caught up in life and never quite get round to it. Almost every day I remember that it's the birthday of somebody I know- I have a weird memory for birthdays- but once again the year has gone by and I forgot to ask for their latest address, so it's just another online greeting for them. 

I've spoken to a lot of people about this lately. The pressure of being everything to everyone when you have so many people in your life- and everyone finds it hard.  My dad told me that it's part of being an adult. He has friends that he's desperate to see, but the time just goes. My best friends listed the people that they wish that they could find the time to see, call, message. 

But I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that we all feel the pressure to be wonderful to everyone, to never snap, never forget to send a card, to be the thoughtful one, the helpful one, the kind one. To always see everything from everyone's point of view. And that we are all doing our best. 

So stop worrying so much.

Accept that other people are doing their best too- try not to get frustrated if you don't hear from them the second that your baby is born: they've got their own stuff to deal with. Don't complain the second something doesn't go your way- the person behind it is spinning a lot of plates, and it was yours that fell this time. That's not your fault but neither is it really theirs. Don't be offended if somebody doesn't have the same opinion as you- it's okay to disagree and move on. Even from the big things. Don't voice your opinion unless it's somehow going to make a positive impact. We don't need any more negativity just now. I recently saw a friend's status (distant friend- wouldn't be in touch were it not for the internet) that said 'be the change.' I thought it was brilliant. That doesn't mean end wars, or give up your job and go and volunteer, it means be nice. Think about how you're going to affect people with your actions. Be empathetic. Try and understand. And for goodness sake don't delete people from your life because you didn't understand them. What a huge loss for both of you. 

And remember that your best is enough. 

You're doing brilliantly.  

At least I think so. 

Even I don't quite get round to telling you often enough. 

There's A Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow...

It's early summer 2005.

I've finished my GCSEs, I've got the whole summer stretching in front of me, and I'm standing in the sunshine with two of my favourite people. 

My best friend, Harriett, and my prom date, James. 

My boyfriend is also there (yes, I had a boyfriend and a prom date), and so is Harriett's. 

I'm wearing a pale pink, floor length dress that doesn't quite fit properly, and my hair has been twisted into all kinds of shapes in a pile on top of my head. 

We are at our year eleven prom. 

Imagining our reunion. 

I had the clearest picture in my head. 

We'd look more or less as we do now- except we'd be wearing trouser suits (because that's what people as old as twenty six do), and we'd be sipping wine instead of apple juice. I'd have my hair done in the amazing bun style that my mum had at a posh charity dinner a few years before. 

Harriett and I would obviously still be best friends, so we'd go together. One of our husbands would probably drop us off, and the other pick us up.

It would be in the school hall, in a very similar set up to the prom. 

We'd all have name stickers on, and would stand around bopping in that adult way, chatting about our spouses and kids and the good old days of school. 

 I would be a hugely successful events planner by then, and would have organised the whole thing myself. People would keep complimenting me on its huge success, and on how much more elegant and beautiful I had become since school. 

Fast forward ten years. 

I'm alone in my little red Ka, pulling in to a pub car park. 

I'm wearing leggings, shorts, and a plain top, my hair is in a pony tail, and I'm about to walk into my ten year reunion. 

I walk in. 

Which I think is a very brave thing to do on my own. 

There are two girls just inside the door way. I don't recognise them at all, but they're around my age and very dressed up. They both look beautiful. One of them has a huge bun piled on top of her head, and the other is wearing a maxi dress. 

Oh God. 

I look like I just wandered out of work. 

I did just wander out of work. 

(Actually I did get changed. I don't wear leggings and shorts to work.) 

Still, I looked...plain. 

I take a deep breath and walk right into the pub, secretly hoping I'll find the wedding party that the beautiful girls wandered out of. 

No wedding party. No other beautifully dressed people. Nobody I recognise. 

I remind myself that they haven't closed the pub down for the reunion- if I don't see anybody I know I can just pretend I'm meeting a friend. Yes. If I don't see anybody I know I'll do an elaborate mime with my phone to demonstrate to everybody that my friend has just text me telling me to meet her in a different pub. 

I can be an excellent actress when I need to be. 

I'm about to pull my phone out of my bag when the outrageously tall man standing at the bar turns around, calls my name, and scoops me up into his arms. 

It's Prom Date James. 

The last time I saw him he was a tiny bit taller than me. had spiky brown hair and a pale pink tie to match my dress. 

Now he's at least nine foot tall (he's insisting that he's 6.3 but I'm sure that's not true), has those huge, fashion glasses, and a successful career as a building surveyor. Oh, and he's no longer James. He's now Jimmy. 

Next I saw Andrew (now Andy) and Bobby (still Bobby), who- like James- went to the same Primary and Secondary school as me. 

Both tell me that I haven't changed since Mrs Richards' class. (She taught us in Reception.) 

"Literally has barely even grown since we were five- she's so tiny!" somebody voices behind me. 

"She actually might have shrunk," another adds. 

Nothing has changed. I may as well be standing beside my locker getting my things together for Spanish. 

Only one thing is missing. 

"Harriett!" 

If I had left school knowing that seeing Harriett again in ten years would be a treat rather than the norm, I doubt I ever would have left. She was my best friend in the entire world. I hug her super tight, and note- somewhat stupidly- that she smells exactly the same as she did in 2005. 

We sit in a group and begin catching up when the glamorous girls from earlier appear and join in with the group beside us. So they are part of the reunion. 

"I don't remember them at all. They both look gorgeous. I thought I'd got the dress code totally wrong when I saw them looking so beautiful."

"I don't like girls with buns," Jimmy says, grinning. "And what do you mean they look gorgeous? You gay now?" 

Jimmy has reverted back to being James. We've all reverted back to being sixteen. I'm sure he doesn't say things like that in front of his surveyor pals. 

I thought that I had school at the forefront of my mind a lot of the time. I want to be a teacher, I work with children, I visit schools at least once if not twice a week, and I  have a stepbrother and sister who are both still there, but somehow- I realise as the conversation develops-  I've forgotten so much about school life...

1) The teachers. 

I do think of some of my teachers every now and then. My mum loves to tell the story of the art teacher who threw my- and only my- clay pot in the bin, saying it 'would be a waste of the kiln.' 

(Just to be clear my mum tells it a lot because she's still angry, not because she agrees that my was worth nothing.)

I rarely think about these though....

• The teacher that only had one arm. I was terrified of being around her. Not because I was worried in any way that she would hurt me or was scary, but because I was convinced that one day I was going to accidentally shout 'you've only got one arm' at the sight of her and be expelled forever. 

• The time my tutor group laid the lockers on their side and put them across the classroom door whilst my tutor was in there, then danced about waving at and taunting him.

• The time the tiny, evil PE teacher was shouting a normally very well behaved girl (me) who was not taking it seriously enough. She was marching toward the girl as she humiliatingly shouted at her in front of everyone. The teacher- too focused on the girl to notice- walked straight into a volleyball net and got completely caught up in it and had to abandon her shouting. I have never laughed so much in my life. Especially not in front of a teacher. 

• When we used to (and by we I genuinely mean in no terms me) knock on the underside of our tables so that the teacher would go out into the corridor to find out what was going on. 

2) The rumours...

• If you stare at her fake arm too long she'll hit you with it. 

• The teacher who makes the girls stand on chairs whilst he walks around looking up their skirts at their underwear. (Nobody you knew was ever made to do that but a friend of a friend was so it's definitely true.) 

• The PE teachers that were actually a lesbian couple. 

• The French teacher that was having an affair with the Physics teacher. It was definitely true because the cleaner was your friends' mum's friend and she had caught them in the cupboard after school one Thursday evening. (I shouldn't joke about this one because I'm quite sure this really did happen once.) 

• The teacher that had a nervous breakdown because 8F hid her shoes in the drama cupboard. 

(I should make it clear at this moment that I do not want to be a teacher in a secondary school.) 

3) The trends...

• Trouser skirts. You weren't cool unless you were wearing both trousers and a skirt. Why?

• Converse trainers. More specifically in my school (not sure if this was a nationwide trend)- different coloured converse with different coloured laces. I used to wear one lime green one with pink laces, and one bright pink one with white laces. I was so cool. 

• MSN messenger. Spending all day at school thinking of the most poignant song lyrics to put in the top bar to let him know how you felt. aNd  tHeN WrItInG tHeM LiKe ThIs. Waiting all evening for him to appear online, playing it cool for a few minutes to see if he'll say hey first and....you need to get off the internet so that your mum can make a phone call. Your whole life is ruined. 

• Nokia 3310. It could only hold seven messages and played havoc with those of us too sentimental to delete. Harriett reminds me at the reunion that I used to cover my eyes and tell her to delete them for me. 

          "Okay, it's from Jake and it says he couldn't believe what happened in The OC either." 

         "Oh nooo, not that one, don't delete that one. Fine. Do it. Just don't let me look." 

• Louise Rennison books. I used to cry with laughter on the beach on my summer holidays then spend the whole first term of school quoting them at Harriett. 

• Limewire. You could almost instantly listen to your new favourite song. When the internet was fast enough. And nobody else needed the computer. And you could find it among the thousands of options. It was brilliant until my dad's friend told him he could get arrested if I kept using it. 

• Combat trousers with tassels. I had them in green and pink, and had net vest tops in the same colour. They were my non-uniform day outfit of choice three years in a row. 

I spent the whole of my school life being told that "school is the best time of your life," and to "make the most of it, life will never be like this again." 

So I did. I soaked up every second. Enjoyed all of it. Immersed myself in everything- including the desperate dramas of secondary school like the fact that Tom- the boy who looked just like Calvin from S Club Juniors and who I was so certain I would marry- saw me in the card aisle in Asda with my mum and my life was OVER. Like the fact that my dad confiscated my phone phone for one WHOLE night and I may as well consign myself to a life alone there and then because WHAT WAS THE POINT ANYMORE?! I stressed outrageously about my year nine options. I- stupidly- took my teachers seriously when they told me my options would determine the rest of my life. I worked bloody hard. I entered the school talent show. I did all my homework to exam standard- even Art which I hated and was horrendous at. And I made sure I appreciated every second of it because it would never get better than this. 

One of my absolute favourite songwriters- John Mayer- wrote a brilliant song about school that says "they love to tell you stay inside the lines, but something's better on the other side."

Who knew?! 

College was even better than school. University was even better than that. 

My first three jobs were better still. 

Then I moved to Walt Disney World. 

When that happened I really did think that life would never get better. 

Then I met Dale. Jack was born. I discovered that Reese's peanut butter cups do exist in the UK. 

Still, I'm delighted that I was told that life would never get better than school. It's instilled in me the ability to appreciate every second: to be grateful, always.

As I sit with James, Bobby, Andrew and Harriett, laughing at old times, and catching up on everyone's current lives, something nothing short of profound hits me. 

This is the real world they told us about. 

All those years spent at school being told "you won't get away with that in the real world", "you're going to have a shock when you get into the real world," and you wait until you get into the real world."

Guess what? We're all here, and we're all okay. 

My memory flicks back over the past few months. 

I'm at Pumbaa's house. It's about 10pm. We're sitting on the sofa eating pizza and Haribo, having just said goodnight to her husband. 

Suddenly, he bursts back into the room. 

"You evil, evil woman."

Pumbaa smirks. 

"I'm just making the girls' teas."

"I don't care!" He replies, half angry, half trying not to laugh. "Go upstairs and fix it now. I can't do it myself. I'll make their teas." 

They both start laughing, as they play fight in an attempt to be the one to make the tea. 

Not the one to put the sheets on the bed. 

This is the real world. Play fighting with your husband about who does the awful job- the job that never stops being awful- of making up the bed. 

I'm at Minnie Mouse's house. She's more or less just given birth. (A few days, give or take.) Pumbaa's husband looks around at Minnie, her husband, his own wife and me. 

"Feels a bit weird having a baby with us and no adults." 

This is the real world. Being twenty six. Feeling sixteen. 

The next line of that genius song by John Mayer pops into my head. 

"I wanna run through the halls in my high school, I wanna scream at the top of my lungs. I just found out there's no such thing as the real world. Just a lie you have to rise above."

I've been listening to that song for at least ten years. And it finally makes sense. 

As I kiss these brilliant adults goodbye, vowing not to leave it until 2025 to meet up again, the final lines of the song fill my head...

"I just can't wait 'til my ten year reunion, I wanna bust down the double doors. And when I stand on these tables before you, you will know what all this time was for..."

<3

There You'll Be

It has happened! We have our very own, brand new princess, and she's beautiful. The country has fallen in love already. 

And I have read and heard some relatively ridiculous things.

"They'll be thinking of a name. They claim that they didn't know the sex of the baby, but like any other couple I'm sure they'll have had a few options for either eventuality." 

Yes, because they're human. 

"Prince William has said he's very happy." 

I'd say he is, yes. 

There's one person- however, that hasn't really been mentioned. Yes, he did appear for a minute, yes they commented on the fact that his wave is just like his great grandmother's (ridiculous), and yes, he is adorable. 

But nobody seems to have registered how huge this is for Prince George. This gorgeous little girl is going to be the Harry to his William. His partner in crime. His best friend. 

And all anyone can talk about is how his wave outside the hospital had impeccable timing. 

I spoke to my mum about how casually siblings- the most important people in your life- are introduced to you. When somebody announces that they're having a second child, people do tend to ask how the eldest is feeling about it. 

Chances are if they're under the age of six, they don't really understand.

But it's going to affect them more than anyone. The lives of the parents have already been overhauled by baby number one, it's the lives of the siblings that you're turning upside down by having another. Their personalities, family relationships, and the way that their lives play out are about to totally change because of this baby. 

Last month my baby brother Chip turned twenty one. 

(NB. His alias is Chip because he will always be the youngest and cutest, just like the cup from Beauty and the Beast. Not because he resembles a chipmunk in any way.)

A couple of days before the party I collected together photos from his life and put them onto a USB stick to be projected onto the wall of the bar. 

Throughout the evening, at least ten people came over and commented on them to me.

"Rebecca the photos are wonderful, you've done a great job." 

"Jesus Christ Rebecca, did you need to put up that picture of me from 1999? What was I thinking with that hair?!" 

What I wanted to know was: how did they know it was me?

I asked my dad, who told me that everyone knew that he wouldn't have been able to put that together. And neither would my mum. And Mowgli- our other brother- wouldn't have known where to find the photos. 

Which left me. 

And that got me thinking.

Imagine if Chip was an only child? 

Would he just not have had little touches like the  photos on the wall? Like the video of his life I made him when he turned eighteen? Who would have stood up for him when he was being oh so wronged by our parents? Who would have squeezed his arm at funerals and laughed with him during the hymn part of weddings? Who would have brought him a pint of water and a loaf of bread when he had had one too many bacardi breezers? And then told our grandparents that he had a tummy bug when  he spent the entirety of the next day throwing up? 

I know that I've mentioned in a few posts that my brothers are the best people in the entire world. So I have always been vaguely aware of how lucky I am. But this was the first time I had really thought about how much siblings affect your life. 

I asked a few people for their thoughts. 

It was a mixed response, really. 

One of my friends- a youngest child with a big age gap- said that she didn't think her life would be different at all.

Another- also the youngest but with only an eighteen month age gap- said that his childhood would have been different but his current life would be exactly the same.

Dale insisted that his life would be no different but I know him well enough to know that his sisters and his niece and nephew mean the entire world to him, and that he would be a totally different person with a totally different day to day life if he didn't have them around. 

Mowgli's girlfriend told me she would have spent her whole life bored without her sister. 

My mum said that without her big brother she would have had nobody to idolise growing up. 

I asked Pumbaa who, as always, provided an excellent answer. 

"I feel the same about my sister as I do about men." 

Right. 

"Can't live with her, can't live without her." 

Succinct as always. 

I asked Minnie Mouse, whose sister wasn't born until she was nineteen. 

She pointed out that her cousin is like a sister to her. She can't imagine life without her cousin- but if she had had siblings from a younger age she probably wouldn't have had that same close relationship with her cousin. 

Then I asked Chip. 

Who said it was just too big a question to answer. 

He's very wise, my baby brother. 

He pointed out that the three of us: me, Mowgli, and Chip, have all got our personalities from our place in the family. He's right. I am definitely the eldest child, and anybody who meets me, oblivious to the fact that my brothers even exist, would be able to guess that quite easily. 

Mowgli is quiet but sociable. The only time he speaks is to say something hilarious. He's so easy going he's practically horizontal. He cares very much about fairness- if he was the last person to make a cup of tea, he will definitely not be making the next one until everybody else has had a turn. He is flexible, and quite happy to just be. When I asked him his thoughts on being an only child he said "I would be loved by my parents. I would be the favourite child. I'd probably be just as good looking." He's a middle child. 

Chip is a risk taker. He's outgoing, confident, creative, unorganised, messy and easily bored. He thinks quite deeply and is interested in everything. He's the youngest.

If all three of us didn't exist, then whoever was left would be a totally different person. 

Would that person have been a mix of all three of us? A perfect combination of my parents? 

 I thought about some of the 'only' children I know. 

They do tend to be a perfect combination of their parents. And they tend to be closer to their friends- they spent their childhood inviting friends on holiday, and for tea every night. They share their problems and issues with their friends, and share their sense of humour with their parents.  

Friends without siblings that I spoke to said that they felt that they were closer to their friends, and their parents, and a couple pointed out that I never get too close to anyone outside of my family because I have my brothers. 

Which I absolutely agree with. 

So there are clearly points for and against both.

They also insisted that my relationship with Mowgli and Chip is unusual. I disagree. Siblings go through so much together- maybe that manifests itself in different ways- but it's so special nonetheless. 

I recently read a list of things that having brothers teaches you. I agreed with the first two, then it got silly. "Brothers teach you what you're looking for in a relationship." Um...no. My brothers definitely didn't teach me that. My brothers taught me that men are disgusting behind closed doors, that if a lad doesn't like a girl, it doesn't matter how nice a person they are, they will be awful to her, and that being desperate and/or boring will never be attractive in a girl. They didn't teach me who I want to date. 

Anyway, I decided to make my own list of why siblings are brilliant...

1)  They keep your feet well and truly on the ground.

I have a big mole on my arm. It honestly doesn't bother me at all- mainly because I've spent my entire life having Mowgli and Chip make fun of it. They love it. When I returned from my year in Orlando and my best friends were saying they couldn't wait to hear all about it, my mum couldn't wait to see my face and my dad couldn't wait to catch up with me- my brothers went straight to the mole. They were so excited to be reunited with it. 

I spent my childhood hearing 'you can run, you can hide but you can't escape my mole' to the tune of Enrique Iglesias's song Escape. 

I will never, ever be arrogant.

2) They are your allies. 

Once, when I was at uni, I had a phone call from  Mowgli. I had been put on loud speaker. His voice was a little bit high and squeaky, you know how your voice goes when you're a bit angry and wanting to make a point? 

"Rebs, if I made the last cup of tea, and Mum and Dad both already made one, whose turn is it?" 

"Chip's." 

"Thank you!" He said, voice filled with triumph. "Everyone was saying it was my turn again. Come on Chip! Kettle on. See ya later." 

And so he was gone. 

I just told Mowgli's girlfriend this story. She turned to him and said: "You always ring Rebecca when you want to make a point! You do that to me as well." And went on to remind us all about the time she spelt scarf wrong and he rang me to get me to correct her.

3) They cover your back. 

When I told my mum I was writing this she reminded me of all the times that we've worked together to hide stuff from our parents. We took all the glass out of a picture once when Chip smashed it while our parents were on holiday. They didn't know for years. We also sellotaped a vase back together and turned it around after the boys had been playing football in the lounge. (Turns out Mum had banned that for a reason.) Then there was the time the ironing board went through the door....none of us can remember what we did to hide it, but we all agree it worked because our parents didn't know for so long. 

I picked both of them up from their football Christmas night out once because Mum had been so mad at them for throwing up in her car the year before, and I HATE anyone being mad at my brothers. I'd rather they were sick in my car. I can get annoyed at them. Nobody else. 

4) They know everything. 

And are very good to not bring it up at the worst moments. Mowgli and Chip know that I used to clip clop around in my Grandma's shoes pretending to be a teacher, they know that I've had some questionable boyfriends, that I still occasionally watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and that I used to constantly impersonate our French Life Holiday Rep Monique. Who was Northern. How irritating. 

They'll laugh about these things in the right company and keep them quiet the rest of the time. But it means that they understand me better than anybody else in the entire world. 

5) They will always be on your side. 

We were getting off the bus once when someone made a wholly unnecessary comment to Chip. Mowgli- easy-going, unassuming, very quiet Mowgli- told this lad that he would kill him before he spoke to his brother like that again. 

We can be mean to Chip- nobody else.

6)  They find things funny that nobody else would understand. 

Things about my parents, mainly. We have been known to call each other to immediately pass on something hilarious that either mum or dad have said. 

7) They understand our parents like nobody else. 

Our parents are insane. Really. They are funny and crazy and wise and opinionated and- it turns out- human. Only we understand what it's like to have been brought up by them and only we can laugh at stories from when we were little. And from now, in fact. 

Your siblings are always there- through everything. My brothers were there when I was a bossy five year old referring to them as "kids", when I lived in a dodgy fringe and a donnay jumper in the early noughties, when I used to make them do the bleep test when I ran my health club- fit not fat, (I was nine), when I brought my first boyfriend home, when I got my GCSE/A level/degree results, when I moved away to uni, they were at weddings, funerals and christenings, through huge celebrations and heart-breaking news, when I was leaving for my best friend's wedding and when I'm on the sofa in my jammies with my hair scraped back and embarrassing tv on. 

And they still want to know me. 

How brilliant is that?! 

These are the best people in the entire world and despite knowing every single thing about me and my life, still want to hang out with me, look after me, even. 

I recently heard some sad news, and the friend that told me said "tell your family you love them. You never know what's going to happen." 

I like to think that I'm quite good at that. I'm not big on elaborate displays of affection. I don't randomly text them out of the blue to say I love them, or share those "share if you love your brother' things on social media. I don't say it to them when we're sitting on the sofa, or when they call me to settle a spelling disagreement. 

But I squeeze them really, really tight when I see them. And will catch them just as they're walking past me and give them a hug. I ruffle their hair, and I laugh at their jokes, and I listen to them. (Although, ironically, Mowgli was trying to talk to me while I wrote this and I didn't realise he was talking to me and blanked him for quite a while, judging by his annoyance when my mind returned to the real world.) I ask about their football matches, and tell them if I've seen something I think they'll appreciate. And with every exchange- even if it's: "how's the mole today, Rebs?"- I am grateful that the best people in the entire world happen to be my little brothers. 

So maybe we should be considering Prince George a little more as we all get over excited about having a princess. Yes, we have a princess, but he has a sister. It's bigger for him than for anybody else in the entire world.  

Everything is about to change.

I hope he's as lucky as I am :)