For Daniel

This morning, my little sunshine boy thundered down the path to your house, short legs pumping, covered in the bruises of a thousand tree-climbing adventures and hair already wet with the heat of today in the way that only you boys seem to be able to manage.

We get to your door and you're almost ready to go bar a disagreement with Daddy about what shoes are going to look best with your trousers.  No matching uniform for you boys today but you carry the same sense of mischief, this is going to be a memorable trip.

It's your first visit to 'big school' and you're going together.  A big deal, a big day.

I walk with your Daddy while the two of you trot on ahead but you are good enough to stop at the road which is frankly amazing given how away with the fairies you both seem to be.  Stop, look and listen.  Good boys.

We go a little further and you stop again, not for the road but to pick up a feather.  You hold it out and say "Look Daddy, here's a feather from Mummy."  Your mummy.  Your daddy's wife.  My beautiful friend.  She saw you and sent you a feather and in that moment she is where she should be, here with us, with your Daddy, walking you to school. 

A second later and you're off.  Running, racing, chasing your friend, your mummy's smile bright on your face.

Daddy Cool

With Father's Day upon us now seems like a good time for a post on fatherhood. 

I have heard that a man out with his children will be viewed by women as more attractive than a man out on his own.  Now this really does depend on the setting; a father in a nightclub with his 5 year old twins, or a man hitch-hiking with a baby might not support this theory.....but with the father and child being in the right place it does have a point.

When I met my husband we were in our 20's and spent our time and money on clubbing, drinking and eating out.  We took our hangovers to work and started our weekends on a Thursday night. We went on long, expensive holidays, laid the foundations for years of 'in-jokes' with our friends and generally did as we pleased for a good 10 years.

You think at the time that it's the best it's going to get.  What more could you want but to have no ties, cash in the bank and weekends dedicated to getting silly and falling over with your mates?

Fast forward to a wet Bournemouth beach on New Year's Day in 2005.  We are married, I am nearly 30 and we decide that we would like to have children.  18 months later it becomes a reality and whilst there are a million other blog posts that could be written on the topic of parenthood, oh what a life affirming thing it is to see your husband hold his child for the first time. 

Seeing your other half comfort and nurture a tearful toddler, wipe up the unspeakable (and sometimes unstoppable) mess that comes from every orifice of a newborn, pull ridiculous faces to get that 'first laugh', mend bikes, play catch, sit through Mr Tumble for the tenth time, tie little laces, learn lullabies and sit on a child's chair at parent's evening with a straight face is, for me at least, one of the most fantastic parts of parenting.  For all the DIY, heavy-lifting, log-splitting and fire making skills a man may have, there is something perhaps even more masculine in being a great father.  Which brings us back to the start - seeing a man who is great with his children is a better advert for masculinity than a man with his shirt off showing you how 'ripped' he is.  Fact.

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ps - If you're wondering who the dude in the photo is - that's my dad holding me as a baby.  Long hair, denim flares and silver cowboy boots - he was a great man and a great dad.  A proper 'Daddy Cool'.

Soundtrack: Daddy Cool by Boney M  what's not to like about this?!

It's Only Words

Right then!  Having finished the first draft of Reasons to be Cheerful, Part One and sent it off to be proof-read I have a little space in my head to write again whilst he covers the manuscript in red pen highlighting my declining grasp on grammar and disregard for the wiggly red lines that signify you have made a spelling mistake.

Before sending it over to him, I did something that is a little bit like giving your house a quick hoover before the cleaner comes - I checked it over.  It comes from the same place as wanting to convince the cleaner that you live in a tidy house when she knows for a fact that you use 'under the sofa' as a storage solution.  I wanted him to think that my work is grammatically great when he knows that I'm far too busy trying to unravel a story from the ball of wool that is my brain to pay proper attention.  

Unsurprisingly there were many mistakes and I was touched that nobody had put a stick in my writer's spokes by pointing these out on the blog.  So thank you for forgiving the extra letters in words like occasionally and necessary (words that I was sure I had right, but definitely did not), the missing letters and the liberal sprinkling of unnecessary apostrophes.  And David, if you're reading this, you now know that I know, that you know, that I know that I'm not great at this.  I await your score!

Soundtrack: It's Only Words by The Bee Gees

Come Together

Did you know that this blog is now a whole year old?  It feels like a bit of a landmark occasion to me and I had been scratching my head about how to mark it when I had a little brainwave.

The title of this blog is inspired blatantly lifted from Ian Dury and the Blockheads' Reasons to be Cheerful, Part Three.  It feels like this year has been my 'Part One' and so with that in mind I'm going to publish the best of the essays in an ebook and will follow it with a print format a bit later on.  My huge thanks go to the polymath that is Mr Tony Cocks of Binge Thinking.  You can check out his facebook page here or drop by and visit his incredible pics on flickr here 

And for those of you that know me, and that have followed this blog over the past year you will know that my life has been lit up by good, good people and the generosity of others so by way of acknowledging that I intend to donate at least 50% of the profits to be shared between Macmillan Cancer Support and Daisy's Dream.  Macmillan has directly supported my family and friends at one time or another and Daisy's Dream provides incredible services supporting bereaved children.

So where do you fit in to all of this?  I would love it if you would let me know what your favourite posts have been, the current 'most read' are listed down the right-hand side of this blog and I thought I'd give you the all time Top 10 below but do have a browse through and tell me if there's one that you'd particularly like to have included, I plan to include the name of everyone who lets me know their favourite in the book.

Now, if we could have some Top of the Pops music please......

1. IT's Different for Girls (a tribute to working in IT and avoiding cavemen)
2. Because You're Worth It (telling L'Oreal to stop patronising us)
3. Not Forgotten (on remembering those we've lost)
4. My Beautiful Friend (just read it)
5. What a Girl Wants (on caving in to practicality when all I want is an evening gown)
6. Paid in Full (on why corporate bonus schemes are impossible to understand)
7. Little Green (Dustbin) Bag (on the reason my shoulder aches so much)
8. The Future's Orange (a celebration of all persons ginger)
9. You Can Say What You Want (about not hiding your light under a corporate bushel)
10. You Want to Live Like Common People? (because Iain Duncan Smith annoyed me)

And here's some that didn't make that list but which I particularly enjoyed writing:

* Who You Gonna Call? (on the power of good friends when you're stuck on the A34)
* Wild Boys (on why small boys are powered by superhero thoughts)
* All You Good, Good People (for all those with generous hearts)
* Lost in Translation (since when did asking for batteries become so rude?)
* Oliver's Army (Jamie Oliver made me set fire to my kitchen) 

Leave a comment or drop me a line via the facebook page: www.facebook.com/cheerfulblog , to let me know your favourite!

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Soundtrack: Come Together by The Beatles

Where is my mind?

There was a time when the amount of email received in a day was paraded as the mark of a true warrior.  Ok, not the mark of a true warrior, more the mark of someone who thinks that being sent loads of stuff makes them look very important.  I will confess to having been involved in conversations with colleagues where we compared the volume of messages received and nodded gravely in agreement at how very busy we were.  Strange stuff.  You would never brag about the amount of post that you get through your letter box or the amount of conversations that you have.  Can you imagine saying "You'll never believe it, I got home to find seven letters on the door mat and that was after I'd spoken to at least twelve people on the phone and met precisely five more.  Really, the amount of communication I've had to take part in today has made me feel incredibly weary."?  No, you would sound like a pratt.  So why is it different when it's digital?

I have a long history with email, from managing the single account belonging to my workplace many moons ago to running three separate accounts today.  I would struggle to get by without it, and I do like it when it's properly used.  I have also experienced the thrill of receiving a company-wide email that says 'please delete the previous message immediately' which of course means that everyone reads it, saves it, and its contents become more interesting and explosive than the latest episode of whatever soap nobody watches together these days.  It has had it's moments.

But here's the thing.  Somewhere along the line I had forgotten that I can choose what email I receive and respond to and my email accounts were filling up with sales messages that I don't want.  Every day yielded a digital disappointment as I would miss a message from my friend in Australia because it was lost in a see of 'SHOP NOW' emails from companies I don't want to hear from.  No, Wallpaper Direct, I have no desire to re-enact last year's eight weeks of decorating this year thank you very much.  

Same goes for facebook status updates and LinkedIn discussions threads that drip into my accounts by the minute.  If I'm not 'there' then I can't properly contribute, and these endless blips and updating inboxes are distracting me from the stuff I should be doing and smothering the messages I should be seeing (like those from my accountant - sorry!) which makes me feel annoyingly disorganised.  No wonder people frown when they look at their phones.  I blame mine for the irritatingly wonky lines that are forming between my eyebrows.  

Now of course you could apply lots of lovely rules and 'sweeps' and automatic clean-ups but this makes you keep shed loads of unwanted mail 'just in case'.  You wouldn't keep every pizza flyer or double-glazing leaflet or save every voicemail you received so why store every email?  Unfortunately, as our email accounts are not like the cupboard under the stairs which will eventually burst forth if you shove even one more toy in it, we end up with years of dusty, pointless old data and I have had enough.

There's nothing for it but to be as ruthless.  I'm going on a mission to remove all the rubbish and ditch the endless offers from Debenhams (sorry Debenhams but there's only so many 'Blue Cross Sales' a girl can take) after which I shall clap my hands over my computer and chime Indian bells to get my digital chakras in order.  I'm going to detox the inbox.

Soundtrack: Where Is My Mind - The Pixies

You Down with OPP?

Despite a career in tech I'm a massive laggard when it comes to all things computing. It wasn't until 2011 that I joined facebook and predictably it is now one of my favourite things for keeping in touch with friends and family that time or distance prevent me from spending as much time with as I'd like to.  Scratch that, it's probably my favourite way of keeping in touch with almost everyone apart from a good face to face chat.  Preferably with wine involved (and there's plenty of that on facebook - by 5pm on a Friday every status I see involves having, or wishing to have a drink).

I knew on joining facebook there would be friends that post their every waking moment, those that dip in and out and those that are rarely there.  They might not be there at the same time or for the same reason but the thing they all do is post photos. Endless photos.  Photos of birthdays, holidays, 'we went to the park' days.  They document christenings, Christmas, 'christ I was a drunk-mess'.  The ability to share so much of your life with so many people without looking like a crazy-lady showing off the family album at a bus-stop (even if it isn't too far removed) is a most tantalising thing.

What I hadn't anticipated was to be on facebook you have to be ok with 'Other People's Pets' (you see, not the OPP you might have been thinking of you naughties!)  The amount of pet-based posting that goes on stunned me initially.  There's reams of it.  Streams of it.  Pages and pages dedicated to it.  There isn't a moment when my timeline doesn't have a photo or comment about someone's puppy or kitten.  And if it isn't their own they're posting a link to a photo or video of an animal that has amused them.  At this very moment I can see an image of Robert Downey Jnr's head on a cat's body...  Unexpected, and of 'niche' appeal but it's there and I have seen it.  And now, so can you.

Some friends profile pictures have morphed into pictures of their pets and in one instance my friend's pet has her own page.  Her own page AND 31 FRIENDS!  If ever proof were needed that the British are soft about animals this is a classic case in point and I rather like it.  But I did feel a bit left out.

We had come to the conclusion that we would be a 'pet free' family after being scarred by the experience of a cat that made regular and vigourous dirty protests after our children were born (turns out she was more of a 'prefers to be fussed by a kindly old lady' than 'kept awake / on high alert by children' feline).  Our village has more puppies than pushchairs so whether I am at the school gate or on-line I am never more than a minute away from a loopy Labrador or a charming King Charles but we resolved to stay firm, our house is not ready for a pup that will eat its way through our furniture.  Even if they do look at you with adoring eyes or give you a level of obedience that your children never will we are not getting a dog.  Yet.  

But we have caved, just a little bit.  Because children don't forget when you make them a promise years before that you will bring something small and fluffy into the house for them to love.  So now a corner of our garden is given over to four very funny, slightly naughty, fabulous egg producing hens.  Within the space of two hours I had gone from 'meh' to 'mine' and.....posted their picture on facebook.  

As unimportant as it no doubt is, there are times when it feels vital to observe an animal to improve the quality of your day.  I hope I can now return the favour to my friends who have lifted my spirits with pictures of their furry-faced companions.  Even if they do have Robert Downey Jnr's face superimposed on them......


PS:  If you're interested to know quite how important animals are to the Internet age, might I suggest you watch this video

Soundtrack: O.P.P. - Naughty by Nature - definitely not about pets.

I Get So Emotional

I took the children to see The Croods at the cinema yesterday.  A visual spectacular with a plot line that involves a cave-family realising that they have must change or die because 'the end is coming'.  Volcanoes erupt, the land parts, mountains shake and their cave is decimated.  We crunch through popcorn and I am wistful for the days of my youth where going to the cinema was about queuing outside the 'ABC' in a state of near hysteria at getting to see the latest film but I am grateful that the seats today are massive and nobody smokes or throws Mint Imperials at the back of your head.  

And then towards the end 'Mr Crood' is separated from his family and his daughter starts crying, and so do I.  For goodness sake!  I am crying at a children's film.  Not heaving sobs of heartache you must understand but more than a couple of tears slid their way down my face at the sight of the cave-girl's massive tear-filled eyes and trembling bottom lip.  This was not a one off either - since having the children there aren't many programmes, songs or news stories that don't set me off.  That's why mums always have a tissue up their sleeve, not for bogey-noses, but in case a baby smiles at them or a dog whimpers or a song that contains a piano comes on the radio.

You might think that I shouldn't be so emotional but it's programmed in.  From having a parent's-eye-view of terrible two's and wild boys, to remembering my own teenage angst (and really, really hoping that my children somehow magically skip that) to the wonder of reproductive hormones I'm inclined to believe we're designed to be emotional from the minute we shout our way indignantly into the world.  Having children aside there has been enough activity to keep things interesting for years and when it all gets too much, I am thankful to have found my 'fix' in running.  Magical stuff.    

And then I'm talking to a friend who utters the words 'peri-menopausal'.  I'm wondering if this is a new type of Nando's flavour but no, she tells me it is the time before you are 'pre-menopausal' which is before the menopause after which you become 'post menopausal'.  I think the life-span of a man is generally taken to be as Morrissey so succinctly put it in Cemetary Gates; 'they were born and then they lived and then they died'.  Quite why women's lives are being sliced into ever tinier sections to be labelled and treated I don't know.  The cynic in me says it's because the drug companies would like to find new reasons to sell us gallons of evening primrose and anti-ageing pills when we all know that a glass of wine and good company has a significantly greater impact on your mood.  Or maybe they are really run by mega-hippies that want to help us all 'chill-out man' as we reach middle-age.

I don't know, so until the point that I am peri, piri, pingy, poingy or whatever it is that I am to be labelled I shall carry on crying at kids films, and if all the terrible things that my friend described really are on the way, I'm going to need a new pair of running shoes.