The Hopkins 6 on Holiday. The Untold Story. Or, Why I'm Not That Wonderful.

This is what I wrote on Facebook on 13 April during a rather taxing holiday. I'd been posting regularly about it, trying to make the best of it. (Yes I forgot I was on blogger and wrote it as a Facebook note.)

The Hopkins 6 on Holiday. The Untold Story. Or, Why I'm Not That Wonderful.

If you followed the ins and outs of our recent holiday (thank you) there's a whole parallel story that coexists with and even underpins our adventures. I can no longer keep the untold story, er, untold as some of you are thinking we're some kind of uber family or I'm an amazing person, which tempting as it might be to pat myself on the back in supercilious smugness whilst boosting my ego with the likes, it just won't wash. The events of that week, my family, me: we're part of a much greater story, a very minor subplot in a story so ancient it goes back to Before Time.

But first, why aren't I amazing? Well I am of course. We all are. Yes, even you. Really. Each of us is gloriously created in God's image, reflecting all that is good, pure, exhilarating yet also each of us is looking over our shoulders, banished from Eden, so very far from perfect. Who hasn't been disappointed with themselves? Disgusted with themselves? We can't just shake it off. It doesn't work like that. Of course we can bury it, push it down and down until we hardly hear it, but it's there. Me? Amongst other awful things, my natural bent is to moan, complain, think I'm hard done by, think the world owes me. Things go wrong? I'm a victim. Why me? Why my family? It's not fair.

Then enter centre stage, where he should be in this story, Jesus. He wrote the story, is the story. All our stories are subplots that only make sense if we know the Full Story, the True Story. In the beginning. He was there. Jesus. A love story. Then: betrayal. Action and adventure, indeed, choose your own adventure. Destiny calling. (Make of that what you will. Happy to discuss free will vs predestination in a PM! ) The back story leading up to him and the Greatest Story Ever Told and the author bursting into the scene itself, the 4th Wall broken and Jesus as the leading man, but in no way best actor for it was no act, no imitation. The real-est, most true story ever. Then skipping forward a bit, moving on some 2000 odd years and oh! It's me, alone, not good enough, my natural bent choosing misery and insecurity. Until I noticed his hand that had been held out all along and I took it and he pulled me up from the pit and I followed him, clean now, my spirit lighter. Free. Jesus.

And so began the changing. If I at all have a positive outlook on life it is as a direct result of my relationship with Jesus and him changing me to be more like him. I can't take the credit. My new nature is not completely installed yet as my old self returning to old habits causes it to buffer, but over time and with prayer the percentage bar goes in the right direction.

So you see, it's not me, it's him. Plus, my family hasn't got it all together either. Remember, Facebook is a filter. I only put on my timeline what I want on my timeline. My family is dysfunctional at times. Relationships fractured. The Mister taken for granted because I'm not thankful. Parenting found wanting. Children behaving so hideously we almost came home 4 days early from our holiday. No joke. No exaggeration. Desperate prayers from The Mister and I outside the car while they were strapped in the car, and this before the shambolic beginning of our stay on the last holiday park. No I didn't put that on Facebook. I filtered it. It's not perfect because we're not perfect. But there is grace.

And what grace we were shown that holiday, from a lovely time in St Andrews and with my friend Caroline Main to much nicer accommodation in Craig Tara and 2 extra nights. But there's more than that. It could be viewed as coincidence that, having booked Monday to Friday in Craig Tara, for no good reason we added on a trip to St Andrews the weekend before rather than the weekend after. Had we been going on to somewhere AFTER Craig Tara, we wouldn't have been able to extend our stay there. It could be viewed as just one of those things that I ran out of time before going away to schedule a grocery delivery for the day after our return, and it was just as well, as we stayed away 2 extra nights. It could be wishful thinking, a flight of fancy, that kept me awake a fair while once we'd moved accommodation, (praying, choosing to be thankful instead of moaning) planning to speak to the park manager in the morning to complain politely about what we'd been through, and that in my spirit I knew, just knew that if I asked for it we would be staying an extra night to make up for it. In my spirit it was a done deal. The Facebook status update already half formed. Then, the next morning, manager Charlene shaking her head and saying they were fully booked. Oh. I must have been wrong. But a refund for the night plus £50 vouchers isn't a failure, so don't be greedy. Be thankful. 2 hours later and we knew we were staying TWO extra nights not one. Double for our trouble. Then of course with The Mister and Biscuit goodness knows where admitted to the children's ward in hospital on the Thursday night, how glad we were not to be packing up and leaving the next morning. I choose to know these aren't coincidences, wishful thinking, just one of those things. It was all planned, written long ago into the story.

Why did God write in the tonsillitis, my baby suffering? I don't know and probably never will. Am I sad for Biscuit (and The Mister who barely slept and wielded the thermometer as if his life depended on it)? Of course. But maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have written this otherwise, and then maybe you wouldn't have read this Untold Story. And you'd think the wrong person was Wonderful.

Pool Party - 12th August 2015 (yeah I'm rubbish at blogging...)

"Perhaps we could have a pool party." Early summer had arrived hot and balmy. The kids were still in school and I wondered aloud about a hypothetical summer holiday activity as we'd actually already got round to filling our mammoth 10 foot paddling pool. As anyone with kids knows, wondering aloud is a dangerous past time, and perhaps is an infuriatingly futile word. "Perhaps we could have a pool party."

There. I'd said it. For my nine-and-a-half-year-old and my nearly-eight-year-old that was as good as set in stone, and what I'd envisaged as a nice play date for them all was rapidly spiralling into a rather more grand and complicated affair. Mental gulp. I began reining them in amid thoughts of how I would - or wouldn't - manage. Although Rizzy at three months is not new anymore, it's still pretty full on given that nearly three-year-old Biscuit is challenging us with some creative attention-seeking behaviour.

I resolved however.

End of term came and the glorious summer weather went. Standing at the beginning of the six week holiday it didn't seem like a problem as we had loads of time. One wet and cold week passed. Then two. There were days and bits of days that felt like summer, and the paddling pool certainly got used. It got used by my loonies when it was only 16 degrees Celsius outside. Friends came and enjoyed it, but it wasn't the designated Pool Party, and there weren't enough friends for it to count. During Week Three Little Feet and Big Grin began to ask when it would be with more urgency. Weeks five and six would be spent away, so it had to happen by the end of Week Four. Every morning Biscuit began to ask, "Is it today?"

The upcoming weather wasn't brilliant, and I forecast bitter disappointment and recriminations. We'd been on plenty of trips here and there and met up with lots of lovely friends, but the lack of this Pool Party was beginning to cast a shadow. Friday evening end of Week Three I began to pray in earnest. By Saturday evening I began to feel a whisper. Wednesday. By Sunday morning I thought I should check out the forecast for the week (again). OK not much to differentiate between Tuesday and Wednesday but "Wednesday. Never mind about the forecast. Wednesday." Really? OK then.

"Girls, we're having the Pool Party on Wednesday. You can invite three friends each." They began listing; I began texting and Facebook messaging. Monday: chilly and dreary. Tuesday: weather improving but still not ideal. We weeded the garden and hit the pound shops. A great deal of the fun in having a party is the preparation. Without that it would have felt like merely having a few friends round. Wednesday: gloriously sunny and about 23 or 24 degrees C.

And what more is there to say? Twelve girls had fun for four hours. ("Are you sure you can cope with them for four hours? You're very brave... Be good for Emma, won't you?") There was the odd moment, the usual divide between the Splashers and the Non-Splashers, but the two-year-olds and the nearly-ten-year-olds and all in between enjoyed themselves. The other mums and grandmas that stayed pitched right in and it just happened. Rizzy obligingly had a nap for the trickiest part, the introductions and settling in, when one or two need suggestions for activities (Sandpit? Fishing game? Er, paddling pool?) and she wasn't too difficult the rest of the time.

The Mister came home from work to find me collapsed on the sofa watching Peppa Pig with Biscuit. "How did it go?"

"Good, thanks. Yeah. They all enjoyed themselves. But I wouldn't want to do it again next week."

The Mister,  remembering all the tidying up he'd been involved in: "Yes it's definitely a once-in-the-holidays thing."

"Oh dear don't institute it as an annual event!"

And the forecast for the remaining days before we go away? Wet. 

French Exchange

For 18 years, something had been bothering me, occasionally waking me up in the night, a kind of niggling, guilt-laden feeling. Well, enough was enough. Two and a bit weeks ago I Googled my French exchange partner, the one I didn't ever write back to, the one whose lovely parents I never thanked for hosting me, found her and dared to get in touch. My horrendous (eighteen year) lack of manners were speedily forgiven and today we drove 2 and a half hours and spent a lovely afternoon with them and some other friends, all so cordiale. Eighteen years, 5 daughters between us, different languages and a whole lot of life lived. I thought I was tying up a loose end, but I hope instead it's a beginning.

The broken-hearted

Tonight, just before bedtime, two big girls with broken hearts. Big Grin remembering the great-grandmother who's recently gone to glory. Little Feet lonely and missing the best friend who moved to the other side of the world a year ago. One mum with an aching heart because there's nothing I can do for them, except hold them, pray for them, listen and try to understand. I can't take the pain away. We read together how God heals the broken-hearted. Into Thy hands I place my children. May I never harden to the ache.

This is the day

Today I am a single parent for the day.  It's not for long - less than 24 hours - but I hadn't done it before.  I hadn't done the children from start to finsh, all on my own.  To some, this may not sound like a big deal, but over the years, having lived with an illness with some degree of unpredictability, this would've terrified me.  The Mister has generally always been around at both ends of the day to help out.  Occasionally he's been absent either in the morning or evening, but never for both.  That I am basking in a degree of health I haven't seen in years had eased my trepidation, but in the back of my mind there was still the slight panic of, "Will I over-sleep?  Will they be late for school and Nursery?  Will I cope right up until bedtime?"  Moan moan moan.  And I have been - moaning - to a few friends.

Then yesterday evening I watched Joyce Meyer touch briefly on Psalm 118:24: "This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."  She was advocating that when we get up, no matter what we think we are going to face that day, we choose to say, "This is the day that the LORD has made, and I'm going to be happy about it!"

And today was fine.  The Mister was collected at 4:30 a.m., and because I couldn't get back to sleep, instead of panicking about the lack of sleep making me tired and thus hindering my ability to cope, I enjoyed extra time with God.  I chose Psalm 118:24.  And I really enjoyed the time I spent with the girls too.

Now I'm looking forward to welcoming a tired hubby home from a long day of meetings in Paris.  I hope he's comfy on that plane.

Overheard snippets

"...my future.  But not just my future, my kids' as well."

"You won't believe how much I'm looking forward to this weekend!"

"...and my social worker told me, 'Every f*@%ing parent does it.'"

Three women I passed on my walk home from town today.  All mothers.  All with hopes and dreams.  Three very different backgrounds, ages, lives.  All intimately known to God.

Such a good day

Saturday was one of those days where everything seems to go right.  It had threatened to be difficult, what with The Mister having to work all day at the National Engineering and Construction Recruitment Exhibition at the NEC, Big Grin under the weather and on antibiotics, and me usually using Saturdays to nap and catch up on sleep but obviously not able to if The Mister was out.  But Big Grin was loads better, and last thing Friday night I bought a Groupon deal that saw me, Little Feet and Big Grin heading to the NEC for the Good Food Show, at a fraction of the ticket price.

First thing, the girls had their usual dancing lessons, which as I haven't got round to learning to drive yet, is handily within walking distance.  Then we headed back home for a snack, which they ate while I sorted the washing, then back out for the 20 minute walk to the train station.  I have not been on a train from Coventry towards Brum on a Saturday for a very long time and hadn't bargained for the crowds.  I then prepared the girls for standing on the 20 minute journey, but no, we got two seats between the three of us, which still just about does.

We arrived at Birmingham International station and headed for Subway and a quick lunch, before heading into the NEC.  Very excitedly we had to use two long travelators to reach our destination, which the girls thought wonderful.  Alongside us and in front was a cleaner, pushing a huge trolley of rubbish.  I joked that we were going so fast we'd catch the cleaner up.  He must have heard as he looked at us then sped up.  What ensued was a good-natured race between us and him, with him gallantly slowing down when we got stuck behind a crowd, and us running round groups of people to get in front again.  We reached the end ahead of him, with him saying, "You won!"  What a good sport, and such a highlight of the day.

We knew that The Mister was in hall 11, and wondered if we could go and see him.  It was a free exhibition, but when we arrived you had to register.  Knowing full well I had no intention of making use of the show - engineering and construction not being my forte - I sidled up to one of the men on the door and asked if we could pop in to see their Dad, pointing to the two cuties in matching pink coats that I had holding on to each hand.  We were referred to a much younger guy, who ushered us over to someone else, when a lovely lady piped up, "Yes of course, no problem."  When I asked where we might find The Mister's company's stand, she escorted us there, only to find he wasn't there.  When I mentioned that he might have gone to have some lunch she then escorted us - chatting all the way - to the exhibitors' dining room, where we came across a rather surprised Mister!  What a lovely lady.  The Mister couldn't quite believe we'd blagged our way in without registering, but I did point out I had two rather cute kids with me to pave the way.

After saying goodbye to him, we headed for the Good Food Show.  I was rather keen to make use of the cloakroom facilities, as my huge winter coat and the girls' puffy pink coats are rather a handful to carry around, especially in a crowded exhibition when you're trying to keep track of two kids and you can't hold their hands as they're full of coats.  First one - full.  We were arriving rather late in the day.  Second one - full for coats, luggage only.  I approached the desk and could see the two men getting ready to turn me away, when I said, "If I stick these coats in bags, would you take them?"  They grinned and said of course they would.  I struggled with the two pink coats to stuff them into my rucksack, then they very kindly said they'd just hang my coat up for me, to save any more struggling.  And it only cost me the price of checking in two items instead of three.  Very pleased with that.

Then we entered the show.  The girls had never been to anything like it, and initially both really enjoyed tasting things and looking at all the stalls.  They managed to get loads of free stuff like stickers and sweets that I on my own obviously wouldn't have been given.  We bumped into people from church, and there was generally a very pleasant atmosphere.  At one stall the guy was selling all kinds of homeware goods, and was shouting out in market fashion.  I haggled on something I wanted to buy two of, and quick as a flash he agreed and had a sale.  Something else that makes me very happy - successful haggling!

We were sitting on the floor, Little Feet and Big Grin eating a sample of something or other, when a man called down to them, "Enjoying yourselves down there ladies?!"  Little Feet asked, "Who was that Mummy?"  I replied, "I think it's someone famous, off the telly."  Blank - from them.  They were not impressed.  Not only do we not have a television, but it seems that the whole concept of fame has so far passed them by.  What a lovely innocent way to be.  I'm sure it won't be long before they are lured by the glitter of fame and fortune, but on Saturday, it was a touching reminder that we are all just people, after all.  (It was Gregg Wallace, from MasterChef, by the way.  I looked him up.)

Big Grin was by now rather fed up and fractious, but as The Mister had finished his show early, he took her home on the train while Little Feet and I stayed a while longer.  Since she started school a year and a bit ago, I hardly ever get time with her on my own, but get loads of one-on-one time with Big Grin, so that was a bonus.  We went round tasting a few more treats then headed back along the travelators to the station, where we walked straight on to a train.  Although we didn't get seats, we did find a spot with plenty of room for Little Feet to sit on the floor, and then The Mister and Big Grin picked us up from Cov station in the car, so we didn't have to do the last walk home.  Just as well as Little Feet had been suspiciously quiet for a while.  Sure enough, that night she started with a high temperature and a cough and is off school today, but still it didn't diminish what was a lovely day.