The Game of the Name

Ok, so I am eating my words after last month’s celebration of the ‘mild winter’ we’d been having, right up to the end of January. Hopefully, though, by the time you read this, everything (including my feet) will have begun to thaw. But I’m not making any predictions this time. I remember distinctly the spring of 2007 when Jem and I did an Easter egg hunt – in the snow. Scrabbling though the slush with his little numb fingers for frozen crème eggs. Brrr.

While Jem has been oblivious to the weather, with a packed schedule of swimming, Beaver Cubs, ‘multi-skills’ (like football but allowing for the fact that most Hanover boys appear not to recognise a goal nor understand that you can’t pick the ball up), and other indoor pursuits, La and I have been frequenting a shrinking number of locales: the laundrette (or ‘spin-spin shop’ as La knows it), the Tarner and Hanover centres, the library (wish they had a door or a gate on the kids’ section though, and I don’t buy any of their ‘health and safety’ reasons why not – what could be less healthy or safe than a place full of toddlers with unguarded access right onto the road – never mind all the other dangers IN the library – lifts and stairs and people who have to be arrested after threatening to ‘hurt you’, as happened to J the other day. The gentleman also called J’s jumper ‘gay’, which was what really offended him).

It’s interesting to see people’s reactions to Larkin’s name. Most people assume it’s after the poet or The Darling Buds of May, and a couple have suggested we named him after the Irish republican, Jim Larkin. The truth is we just liked the sound of it. And I’ve been noticing how names (at least in the bubble which is Brighton, or perhaps the south-east) with particular sounds seem to become popular trends. This is just anecdotal, of course, but amongst my children’s peers we have, overwhelmingly, names like Ella, Isla, Orla, Laila, Bella, Lola, Maya. Similarly I’ve noticed a local trend for short boys’ names beginning with or containing O: Louis, Otto, Arlo, Oscar, Oliver, Milo, Leo, Orin. Then there’s the wider trend for old-fashioned boys’ names – there will be a whole crop of dads called Stanley, Wilfred, Arthur, George etc in thirty odd years. At the moment the predominant dads’ names amongst my acquaintances seem to be Steve, Chris. Andrew, Matt, Kevin and John but the winner (by my totally subjective observations) is Simon. These will be the fuddy-duddy names of tomorrow. And Kate/Katy – one of the commoner names of my peer group, alongside Emma, Sophie, Jo, Lucy and Claire, will be too, sadly. I fear I may have lost some of you – I’ll leave it there. Til next time, happy nearly spring-time!

January Jottings

I’m sitting here writing this with Late Junction on Iplayer, Larkin napping, and strangest of all, and the sun shining and the clothes outside drying. It has been an unexpected January – mild and not terribly grim at all. Of course by the time you read this I might be eating my words, but thus far we’ve been able to be out and about plenty. We went wassailing in Stanmer Park (serenading the apple trees by lantern-light and wetting their roots with cider to ensure a good crop), and attended the opening of the camera obscura in Tarner Park. This is to be a permanent fixture – Friends of Tarner will hold a key – and it’s a marvel. It made me feel quite child-like with delight, to see delicate trees waving, people walking and birds flying across the inside walls of the tower as we sat in the dark. If you get a chance to go you must.

For those of you who are wondering – J did survive my absence just fine; and – bonus! – so did the children. And it was lovely to come back in time for Christmas (though it was lovely to have had two weeks in the sun too, of course). I was a bit shell-shocked and found myself wishing to get back into normal routines again after a few days of trying to ration the Quality Streets and watching Narnia movies. We chopped up and burnt the tree on Boxing Day, which I think tells you something.

My New Year resolution has been to buy a desk and regain the physical and mental space required for creativity. I used to draw, write, paint, make things…now my house is full of boxes of materials and half-finished projects buried beneath layers of child-paraphernalia. Motherhood is wonderful – and I am in no way devaluing its enormous importance as a job or role – but it’s so easy for your identity to become subsumed, and all those things you wished for, to become focused on the child(ren). We tend to feel guilty about pursuing our own hobbies, interests, even careers, at the expense of ‘quality time’ with our children. But I’d argue it’s important for them to see you as a dynamic, rounded individual with interests outside of them. And one-on-one focused play is great, but let’s face it, it’s also pretty dull. You can’t possibly do it all the time, or even most of the time – a child need to learn to amuse herself, while you get on with your stuff, too. That’s what I think, anyway!

Finally – went to see a great band last night – Dr Bluegrass and the Illbilly 8. Fast, foot-stomping bluegrass, with a few tunes you’d recognise, too. They’re locals and play often in Hanover pubs so check them out if you get the chance.

Launderette Love

Another year begins! A happy 2012 to you all. I can't believe how fast the milestones – birthdays, Christmas, Wimbledon, I'm a Celebrity... – seem to come round. There's a paper snowflake in my window that I put there two Christmases ago – about once a year I notice it and think vaguely, that shouldn't still be there – but by then it's usually nearly Christmas again anyway. I might as well not take down the decorations at all this year, since I'll only be putting them up again in all of five minutes time. It wasn't like this when I was young. A year took a whole year to go by.

Larkin is walking and squawking now (really loudly. We caused people to walk out of Moksha during one recent shouting session). He loves to climb – onto stools, up ladders, anything. Parks suck at this time of the year, and softplay centres, even if they weren't all situated in the industrial back-of-beyond, are basically the seventh realm of hell, so I find myself really wishing someone with a bit more money and business nous than me would open a properly child-centred cafe. It's not a lot to ask and there's a gap in the market the size of the channel tunnel. I can't see how it could possibly fail, when people are prepared to spend £5 or even £10 just to be able to sit and have a coffee and a chat and know their toddler is safe and amused. I take Larkin to Baby Jam primarily because I think he likes the songs, but also, frankly, because it's a big indoor space with nothing dangerous in it, and it's worth the money for that alone.

Speaking of things being worth the money – my friend Kath passed on a genius tip – launderettes! Our local one, Soapbox, is lovely, warm, open late and, most importantly – it has tumble driers. No more house full of washing that never dries. So worth it.

I am off to visit family in South Africa for two weeks this month (watch this space for How It Went and whether J survived lone-parenting, or indeed discovered the secret I've always kept hidden, that in some ways it's actually easier.) I had planned on taking Larkin as my family would love to meet him. But twelve hours in a tin can with a child whose only real sources of entertainment are food, stairs, and shouting, would be hell for me and my fellow passengers. So I'll be holidaying solo. Am I looking forward to it? Yes of course! Will I know what to do with myself? Not even slightly. Will I be able to hold a cogent conversation and not mention my children? What do you think??