Happy to be

Other eggs this time

It's difficult to find original presents for most people around me. They either have the stuff or they don't need it. Obviously this creates interesting challenges but with my fair share of travelling I normally manage to come up with something.

Another option used to be 'made to order'. My mother is a professional ceramist/potter and made me the most beautiful vases, cups with names, bowls with the most amazing colours and just generally unusual but practical stuff. I was a popular guest in those days.... Living in different countries finished that option so I'm back at having to think about being original again.

I've discovered a new option. Via the wonders of the web I stumbled across Eveline, another Dutchie in the UK, as it's always nice to read what other ex-pats are up to. Some months ago she started selling hand painted eggcups, charms, peg people, pebbles and treasures she found at a car boot sale that were 'just begging to be painted'.

I initially ordered some great looking egg cups just because they looked so cheerful. Why settle for a white one if you can have a bright sun with a big smile greeting  you in the morning? The children loved them and insisted on having them on the table even if they weren't eating eggs.

I therefore asked Eveline if she could do bespoke ones for their birthday. I gave her some clues and favourite colours for inspiration and she came up with these:

 

 

And all this, you are not going to believe this, for £5. Eveline, you need to increase your prices - after I order the next set of course.

Tess and Sam totally love them because they are so original. They are great to have and even better to keep so I'll be ordering lots more of them for the 'grandchildren', leaving au-pairs and for whoever is in need of cheering up.

So, for original presents, you now know where to go.

Sports day

Tess gave me a list of instructions of what I should and shouldn't be doing during sports day.

I thought I'd gotten out of this one as it was originally scheduled for Monday. Due to a Very Important Meeting (read: I was chilling out with some friends at Pennyhill, the best spa in the country) I couldn't make it. Unfortunately my lack of interest in bean-bag throwing, three-legged relay and the 'egg and sperm race' was punished by a postponement until a day that I could make it. Today.

Just to make sure I was clear on her expectations she drew up this list. "A reminder," she called it.

I was supposed to

• cheer only when she was racing - I was planning to read something if they were not on so that was not difficult
• not to talk in Dutch to her - Godknows why but they don't like me talking Dutch in public
• not to call her 'sausage' - fair point
• Act normal - ????

"What does 'act normal' mean?"

"You know. What other mothers do. They act normal."

Genuinely puzzled because, as far as I'm aware, I blend nicely in the background and don't act remotely embarrassing.

"I act normal. You have to give me some clues here because I honestly don't know what you mean sausage meisie."

"You just sort of look .... different.... . I don't want you to be different."

Still not sure of what she meant and feeling slightly sorry for causing her any kind of upset, I raise my eyebrows. Sam, my good old loyal easygoing little soldier, saves the day.

"Pfeeh, she wants to stand out if she can sit next to you in the convertible. She doesn't know what she wants."

And turning to me he adds, in a reassuring, slightly patronising tone "I just want you to come as yourself. As my Mummy."

Every mother should have a son.

The risk or beauty of having twins

Eleven months after I was born, my mother gave birth to my sister. Family legend says she wanted to go on for number three straight away but my father, quite understandable, was not in favour. As 'revenge' she gave birth to twins two years later, resulting in 4 children in 4 years.

I clearly remember having a discussion with my mother many years later that having twins was the way forward. In fact, if I had my way, I was going to have twins as well. Of course she reminded me that's not exactly how it works but nevertheless, I always had this strong sense that one day I was going to have my own -non-IVF- twins.

When they indeed discovered I was carrying twins, the consultant put a nice damper on it by reeling off the statistics. Chances for miscarriage are this, high blood pressure is that, prematurity so and so. He also mentioned relationship problems and possibly even divorce. As my then husband and I were discussing divorce before I fell pregnant it gave me a statistical sense of reassurance; I will definitely suffer one of the consequences so statistically I might be OK on the other ones. Admittedly a weird thought and it shows you how my warped mind sometimes works...

I was reminded of the facts and figures when I attended the annual conference of the Human Fertility and Embryology Authority where one of the sessions was dedicated to 'The best possible start to life: Issues around multiple births and embryo transfer.'

Being a twin or having a twin is seen as special. However the increased use of fertility treatment has also led to an increase in multiple births and unfortunately also to an increase in infant mortality, cerebral palsy and numerous other incidences. The presentations of Mr Khalaf and Holte made this all clear but the moving story of Mrs Torr who lost one child during her first pregnancy and has a disabled child from her second twin pregnancy really drove it home.   

The HFEA is therefore presently consulting on proposals to discipline clinics that produce twins or triplets in more than 10 per cent of pregnancies. And as a twin mother, someone with access to this data and links with the people who consult or decide, I've been asked quite a few times what my views are.

If I would have been an IVF patient, would I have used single embryo transfer (SET)?

Only in the last days I've learnt that SET can be as successful as multiple embryo transfer which will reassure people faced with this choice. But I have to be honest; I know the statistics good and bad, I've spoken to the parents of disabled children, argued with the consultants on a multiple birth advisory committee and I can also still remember my own fear when my children were born almost 7 weeks premature.

But in the end, if I had the same choice, I would go for twins again. A 40% risk still means a 60% chance of it being OK. I know this is playing with fire and I'm glad I wasn't burnt. But as we separated a year after having the twins, I only would have had one child.

And that thought breaks my heart more than you can imagine.

And don't remind me what they say about men with big feet. He is still my baby!

With a 5"11 1/2 (that half is vital...) mother with shoe-size 8 and a 6"3ft father with shoe-size 12 (or was it 13? You forget these things after some years) it doesn't take a genius to work out that my children will be tall, have big hands and feet and eventually will dwarf me.

Yesterday I bought new trainers for Sam. He has size 7 1/2 or 41 as we European earthlings would say.

Seven-and-a-half.

My baby is only 8 and has size seven and a half. How much longer will it be before he towers over me??

I can see a food rationing being introduced soon . . .

Safety

Like most parents my heart sunk when I heard about the case of the kidnapped 3-year old Madeleine. I check the news even more than I do normally to hear if she has been found but have to look away if I see the anguished faces of the parents. My heart really bleeds for them.

Nevertheless my initial reaction was one of surprise to hear that 3 children under 3 were left on their own in a hotel room. What on earth went through their minds when they made that decision?

The subsequent articles about whether it's safe to leave your children alone completely miss the point. Some even suggest that parents who don't leave their children alone in certain circumstances are paranoid and neurotic. Excuse me??! It's not about the real safety issues the adults have, it's about the perceived ones the children may have.

I never leave my children alone at night and never have done. That's not because I'm neurotic or worried about the house burning down, kidnappers or whatever 'worse case scenario' could happen. The chances of these real dangers happening are so slim they don't even cross my mind.

But if one of them wakes up with a nightmare and cries without getting a reaction, or one needs the loo and finds the house empty, their sense of safety is affected. It would break my heart knowing one of my children cries out for me and I'm not there to hold it, tell it everything will be alright and Mummy is here, you will be safe. God-knows what scary thoughts will enter their minds if they are left to cry and panic. Most parents will know to well how irrational children can be with their fears.

I can't protect them from all the bad things that are happening, real or imagined. All I can do is offer the safe feeling that whatever happens, I will be there. And that doesn't make me a paranoid or neurotic mother. It makes me one that wants to be there when it counts.

Why children are great levellers

At this morning's breakfast table:

"What are you going to do in London today Mum?"

I responded in an excited manner.

"I'm going to be interviewed for South-American television and after that I'm having a meeting about setting up another company."

And without missing a beat Tess only response was:

"And are you back on time to pick us up from school?"

Disco inferno

The yearly end-of-season rugby players evening took place last night. I was dreading it with a vengeance but nevertheless dragged the family to this most glamorous of events.

The coaches speeches and awards was to be followed by a buffet, drinks and the highlight of the evening, a true disco with flashing light and smoke effects. However, as could have been predicted, by 9 o'clock most of the children, mainly boys, where either more interested in kicking a ball or, the slightly older ones, drinking beer behind the bushes.

Determined to liven things up and to give the children some payback for all the hours we wasted spent on rugby pitches some decided to start the competition Which Parent Can Embarrass Their Child Most By Being On The Dance Floor.

You will be pleased to learn that my ever present competitive streak meant I won this competition. Hands down.

Every mother should have a son

My whole Sunday was spent on a rugby pitch were Sam was playing a tournament. It was a lovely leisurely day made even better by the quality time we had together. Unlike all the other boys of his team, Sam has no hesitation of sitting on his Mum's lap, having his back scratched, his neck nibbled or my arms around him. Even when he grows to be 2 meters tall he'll always be my baby and I keep telling him that as well.

I said this to my sister, mother of 3 including a 10year old boy, and wondered how long he would be happy to snuggle up to me. I was relieved when she reminded me that my brothers continued to do so until they were 18, both 1.90m with a 1.56m mother.

At bed time I crawled next to him for our daily review of life session.

The referee from Dorking sucked, his knee still hurts and he wants to play for the national team. I told him how much I loved him sitting with me and I wish that could stay forever.

"Of course that will stay forever. But not when I have my own children because they want to sit on my lap as well." And after a pause he added "and I don't think the seat will hold that."

My dear lovely cuddly big small son, if by that time you really still feel the same way, I just get a stronger seat.

Mystery

Sam managed to remove the au-pair as a user on one of the PC's. This surprised me because you can only do that via the computer administration account, i.e. my account. And my account is protected via a password.

"How did you remove that user account?"

"By using your login of course!" (as in 'Mum, don't ask me these silly questions!!')

"But how did you get past my password?"

"O I tried a couple and one of the guesses was right."

"So how did you guess this one then?"

And to my surprise, and horror, he said:

"You and Pappa [my ex-husband] have the same password."

Needless to say, as it doesn't relate to where we first met, names of the children or anything obvious I am completely utterly puzzled how this is possible. Unless Sam is being clever and tries to wind his mother up.

In which he succeeded....   

I miss my children