Doctor, doctor!

Not sure on source of picture!

I was in the doctor's waiting room yesterday with my poorly little girl. We walked in, I saw that it was fairly full and  immediately started to (almost) panic about were to sit.
 Will I have to sit next to someone? If so, what will they think? Will baby M behave? Will she understand that we whisper in waiting rooms? These questions raced around for probably less than a second, the same amount of time I had to find a place to sit!
 I sat next to a man.
 Was he put out by this? I don't know, I didn't want to make eye contact. Just like one other lady who I noticed, looked like she was concentrating extremely hard on keeping her head down and eyes fixed on the floor.

 The waiting room silence played on, until...

...A man decided to talk not whisper to my little girl. The bravery.
He asked her questions, he commented on her wellies, and dared to even sing 'Row Row Row Your Boat'.
 We were waiting for about 30 minutes, and for 20 of them, this waiting room maverick chatted and smiled away to my little babe, while the others in the room were clearly pretending it wasn't happening.
 I was in between reading a magazine and politely smiling at the more and more frequent "Do you know this song?..." and "Show me your wellies", while thinking to myself that this seemed a little strange, and what did the other 'waitees' think to this cavalier approach to getting through the waiting room silence?

The head down lady remained in her chosen attitude for the whole time we were in there. Amusing and quite admirable really.

I try to keep my head down in waiting rooms, but most of the time I'm far to nosey, so that awful thing happens where I look up, I accidentally make eye contact with somebody, so we smile. But then  (for some reason I will never know), I keep looking at them!! Then they notice, but the polite smile stage is passed. So now I'm just a weirdo, remaining totally silent, trying not to look at anyone (but failing)... in a doctor's waiting room.
 The stress!

We were called in to see the doctor and all was well with the world again. (From my view anyway, probably not for the remaining silent dwellers I left behind).

I'm sure we have all wondered why, but why don't we talk to people in waiting rooms? I'm not saying I'm up for it. In a strange way, I feel almost proud that in Britain, most of the time- we don't talk to strangers.
It's like, we are aware of accepted British social behavior, and asking someone in a doctor's waiting room "How are you?" is certainly not it.
We know most people won't want a conversation with us, and if they were to talk, would we really think that it was normal?
We know that we probably don't really want to talk to them either.
We know that we are quite happy feeling awkward, trying to keep our heads down, and doing all we can not to make eye contact.

I get the feeling that our great, proud, stiff lipped and composed nation is cool with that.

Taken from www.telegraph.com

I dream a vanilla sponge dream.

So, my dream of being a baker. It started not too long ago, although since becoming a wife nearly 4 years ago, I have always enjoyed cracking out the eggs and flour! The recent trend of cupcakes and general DIY baking is helpful- I noticed the quite impressive expansion of stock in the 'home baking' aisle in the supermarket. That makes shopping a lot more exciting!

I am rather tired of the normal working day. I would much rather love being able to bake in my kitchen for people who place the odd order here and there.

There has never really been anything in life that I've particularly excelled at. I was a slightly above average school student, with some artistic abilities that were always overshadowed by one or two others. I suppose I'm kind of a 'jack of all trades, but master of none'. Baking is probably no different; there are MUCH better bakers than me. But it's something I love and even though I know I will never be a Great British Baker, I am still good at it.            

Do we like to say what we are good at? I know some people who think that being confident in what you are good at is automatic arrogance. We must be humble and modest, and as long as you just try your best, then that's all that matters. Yes. But, who ever got anywhere by realizing they were good at something and then keeping it a secret for fear of being branded 'cocky'?! Wouldn't the world be boring if all the people in it ran from their own brilliance into mediocrity.

 If you asked Tom Hanks if he was a great actor, he would not say 'Oh, I'm alright I suppose' I'd like to think that he would call you stupid and say ' Yes I am'. I don't think there is anything wrong with being proud of your talents and achieving recognition for them. Would Mr Hanks have achieved global stardom and Hollywood film domination if he'd kept his Oscar winning abilities to himself? Nope.

My husband is a brilliant guitarist and most of the time he will agree that.
My brother in law excels at playing the drums (I'd like to think he would agree with that).
My nan knits like no one I know. (She won't agree with that, but she will happily get out her needles and prove to you her woollen worth!).

This is not boasting, this is stating facts.

So, I am a good baker. I need some practice with the piping bag, but for a slightly busy, working mother who isn't part of the W. I ... I'm not too bad at all. So I'll continue trying to achieve my little dream, for it is not stuck in any pipes.

..."The same thing we always do Pinky, we... play the game".

 This month we have decided to not watch the television. I am ashamed to admit that on just the second day in, I missed it!!  But day three, four and five came and went, now on day 13 I'm T.V free and it's brilliant. I'm a big Eastenders fan but I haven't had the slightest twitch in not knowing what soul destroying misery plagues the square at the moment. What has happened is...I have discovered a love for Scrabble.
 I was playing it at work (it is a clinically reasoned therapy exercise...promise!) and I really got into it. So when I saw Mr M I mentioned that it might be an idea to get it for our quiet evenings.
He did.
Now we are obsessed with it. So at the ripe old age of 23, I have played my first game and developed a love for Scrabble. Nothing better than a game or two in the evening, with a cup of tea (milky?) and a biscuit.

I think I have won more games than my husband. But he discovered my hatred for losing during our second game so it's probably best that it stays that way, for fear he sees me for the monster I really am and ends our games in DIVORCE. It scores 13 though...he might win with that one!

"Working 9 to 5"...Not that bad today Dolly.

Yesterday I was at the end of working one of my regular 6 day weeks! I can't say I love them.


I was starting to flag at work and people were asking if I was okay. But I had things to do and a meeting to go to so I tried to crack on. When I got home I had a house to clean, tea to cook and a delicious daughter to stimulate. The thought of the looming list of jobs to do at home didn't exactly make the day at work go quicker. (Except for the bit that involved playing with my baby. She still blows my mind!).


 Anyway, in my meeting about things that won't interest you, my team leader told me how important I was to her team, and how valuable my opinion and input is to her. That my potential is great and should things ever change, I would be a loss to her team.
Although in my tired state I did well up, this was such a wonderful way to get me through my lingering chores and more importantly to feel useful.
Everyone likes to know that they are doing a good job. At anything I guess. 
 My husband often tells me that I'm a good mummy. More than I tell him he's a good daddy (which he really really is).


 Humbly, it feels so rewarding to be told that you're good at something. 
 I like feeding people. Cakes mainly. I could quite easily do that weird thing and just sit and watch people eat them. I feel so fulfilled when they are pleased with what they are eating. I feel a little more complete every time! My brother in law is probably the best person in the whole entire world to feed. He uses words like 'stunning' and he makes all kinds of noises as he just stares at the baked goody in front of him. The joy that it brings me is very real. (Hence the dream of being a baker, which I'll tell you about another time)


I digress, my point (I think), is that the praise I got from my wonderful team leader pretty much got me through the rest of my day. It was such good timing. It's important for me to praise people more often. I think telling someone they are a good'un is as enjoyable as being the recipient of such a compliment.
 I'll start when Mr M gets home. 

More tea?

Vicar: Only if you give me a little less milk!


It was me who made the tea at work today and it could have gone better.
"Er, I'm just going to get another tea bag for this hot milk" Comment number one.
I say nothing.
"Oh, this tea...is it tea? It's very weak if it is" Comment number two.
I smile.
"I'm quite good at making tea. I'll make it next time" The last comment.
I apologize for my undesirable tea.


I drink tea extremely weak. Most other people I know drink it a normal brown/orange colour compared to the pathetic albino beige drink I dare to even call a cup of tea. I'm okay with it.


My husband drinks his stronger than average. My husband also has much stronger opinions than me.
Mr M often gets out his ladder and climbs onto his beloved soap box. I sit at the bottom and (most of the time) don't even try to follow. Occasionally I will try, but rarely will I ever climb as high. Am I lazy? Passive? Less passionate about things? 


Rants annoy me a little. I can't say I'm fond of a good heated debate, or playing devils advocate to inspire some extreme reactions, or arguing a point I feel strongly about. Sometimes I don't even want a conversation. I am the white to my husband's black. Opposites attract, but what about in this case?


 My husband is a very intelligent man. He enjoys studying, learning and looking for the answers to things he doesn't know. He is interested in hearing what people have to say, and is confident in sharing his well thought out opinions. 
His thirst for strong, hot tea must coincide with his thirst for a strong understanding on 'stuff'.


Probably not actually, but the tea situation got me thinking today. Am I a cup of warm, weak tea not really offering much?


Maybe a little.


More tea?

One beautifully dressed footstep at a time

Are you ready shoes?

Shoes


How you complete
How you fill my heart with joy but alas my
purse with dread
How you do simply make it
How you so easily break it
How you relieve it
How you most definitely cause it
How you never cling to the wrong places
How your heels will secretly help fake it
How your flats will effortlessly enhance it
How I will always wear you

I can't tell you how much I love weddings!!

Courtesy of willbphoto.com

Born to be a bride

Laugh as you mean to go on

The Door

So, I begin. 
Upon browsing through some photographs, I found one of a little red door that I took while walking around the walls of York. I looked at it and thought 'am I a door?' (metaphorically of course!) My answer is yes.  Therefore, my first blog is why I think I am a door.


 I can (quite often in fact) look a little plain. My clothing won't be even close to fashionable, I won't be wearing jewellery and my face will be naked. These are the very things (and lack of) that blend me wonderfully into the background. Much like the average front door to a house; white UPVC, maybe a patterned bit of glass and a slightly rusty house number...hardly the wow factor among door enthusiasts (of which I know just one).  
  
Yet behind the most seemingly dull of house doors could and does await someone's extraordinary home. 


I can say that behind my average looking metaphorical door are many 'rooms'.  Some full of junk that I've forgotten about, others waiting to be filled with it! A room where nothing makes sense, and in it stands my husband with his head in his hands wondering what this crazy 'door' is all about. Rooms that can be viewed in a classic and traditional way, while just a few are minimalist and modern in contrast.


I realise I must not overlook those doors. The grand, wooden ones with the perfect varnish finish. The ones with the smell of freshly baked bread that's been brought straight from the Aga, coming from behind it. The ones with 'headturnability'. Sometimes behind them is a mansion filled with beauty that my humble abode will always feel overshadowed by. But I rest in the fact that sometimes damp will appear behind those extravagant doors, or the odd bit of fine bone china will get dropped.


My dad used to fit house doors for a long time (real ones!) and while some of them could not be called beautiful, he fitted them perfectly. I have been fitted perfectly too. I may be plain sometimes, but I am not ordinary. I think, the door to a home is the entrance to something beautifully personal (however messy), and the exit into the rest of the world. Therefore... I am a door.