Letter to the Council

To Whom This May Concern

I requested a litter bin at the Abbeydale Road end of Bannerdale Road back in April as you can see by my email below.

I received various responses to my letter including that my letter was on a list to be read, then on a list to be thought about and more recently that I am now on a specific bin waiting list. 

The last email I received explained that the priority criteria for getting a new bin includes whether the site is near a school (yep) and whether it is near a bus stop (yep, it is near one of those too). You can imagine how boosted I felt when the odds seemed so much in my favour. I celebrated my near win in all the usual ways like updating my status on Facebook and telling my mum. 

But sadly now things seem to have come to a standstill on the bin front and I'm feeling litter related angst.

I'm not naive. I imagine that now we are on the final list further bin related nagging will achieve very little.  But when you hit 36 years old complaining to the council is an inevitability so, sorry, but I was compelled to write another email.

I have gone one further this time and attached a photo I took today after school drop off. Unfortunately I didn't have a child with me at the time to look forlorn in the shot but I think you get the picture. 

I understand that the council has no money. I feel the council's pain. I don't have any either. If I did I would buy a bin myself.

I look forward to hearing from you in the hope that we have at least inched up the list a little, or that a surprise S7 bin fund has been discovered. Or even better that Nick Clegg or some wealthy Sheffield business man has decided to fund our bin personally. You never know your luck.

Yours sincerely

Katie Hilton

The best kind of treasure hunt

As you know I've waxed lyrical about Endcliffe Playgroup many times before. They were instrumental in preschool fun and chaos as well as helping my daughters to grow up enough to move on. Despite school starting I'm still on the committee and this weekend it was our treasure hunt in the Botanical Gardens.

It was the usual simple strokes of genius that little ones love - rushing about following picture clues, chasing pigeons and terrorising squirrels. They collected stuff of course like feathers and sticks and our lovely treasurer ignored the cries of her 7 year old ("you look ridiculous mum") and dressed up as a pirate. Just a week too late for International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Phoebe loved seeing her friends again, as did I. And the sun even shone.

It made me think once again about why all this stuff is important. This group let me have time off to myself each week. But it also allowed me to be involved in the childcare of my preschoolers. Whether it be as an extra pair of painting hands on playgroup days, raising money for the group or messing about at spin off sports days in the park.

It has a sense of community and friendship for children and adults alike. Phoebe has several little friends she loves to see outside school now, and some of my closest friends were met through playgroup. (They are wonderful even if they are terrible at pub quiz questions).



The structure and routine for my two to four year olds was invaluable to me (and the kids) and at my hardest moments the time away from the girls playgroup gave me for a few hours a week was a godsend. Plus it didn't cost the earth.

So if you are a Mum or Dad who needs a little time and space to themselves during the week but doesn't want to commit to whole days in nursery, I urge you to think about Endcliffe Playgroup in Sheffield. The Playgroup would love some new 2-4 year olds to join the lovely children who go every week, and I know there are parents out there for whom this would absolutely fit.

This isn't about signing up, this is about joining in!

My little girl is growing up

This post is going to read as pretty dramatic I suspect. Most people don't quite understand how emotional I get about things. I am highly strung. Paul says it's that everything matters to me.Which could be described as "easily stressed and soppy" but at least it's never a dull moment.

I used to cry regularly. I don't cry so much anymore. Probably because my life is in general much happier. But it does occasionally happen. And when it does I go fro broke and do it in front of the head teacher usually. Just to make me look like a complete numpty.

So my reputation as dramatic sop is due to be reinforced in the morning because my youngest daughter starts school tomorrow. It's the first time I'm felt so very sad in a long time.

I can understand if people think I'm being dramatic. Yes it's sad but come off it, she's four now and growing up, and think of all that spare time I'll have. I can finally lose a stone and write a novel. Or at the very least set myself some unachievable targets and clean the cooker.

But it goes without saying really that I'm going to miss her. We have fun and she hugs and kisses me all the time. It will never be quite the same again. She is my youngest and final child (I couldn't go through that again) and therefore my days of being a stay at home mum are numbered. God help us if my title changes to "Housewife". I'll be dismissed for poor performance.

I have never been embarrassed that I chose to stay at home with the girls, and feel proud that I have done it. It has been hard at times and more recently easy and downright fun. I wouldn't have missed a moment of it. There were times when I didn't believe people when they told me how fast the time until school goes by, but wow does it zoom.

So here we are. I just hope I can get out of the room tomorrow before I start turning red and blotchy. It won't help either of us (or the teacher, other pupils and parents) if I start blubbing in the book corner. Sunglasses aren't an option inside in rainy September so my only option is a quick hug, kiss and a fast exit. Maybe this is the time to begin my running regime.

So Phoebs, maybe one day you'll read this. Know that I've loved staying home with you and you're wonderful. Tomorrow is a new chapter for both of us. I imagine I'll embarrass myself on the way out, but that's nothing compared to how embarrassing I'll be for you in the years to come.

I love you.

Love Mum.

P.S. Pass me the tissues and no you cannot have a go on the Ipad.

Children

I'll be honest and admit that I wasn't entirely easy with the idea of looking after other people's children initially. Largely in case I didn't like them. Let's face it some children are horrible. Or in case they didn't like me and spent the time screaming and throwing stuff. Or worst of all that my kids wouldn't like them or they wouldn't like my kids. Because how do you handle that? I mean I'm allowed to not like my children sometimes but other people aren't (see irony of my first point).

The desire to run screaming from other people's kids conflicts with the large part of my personality that desperately wants to help people out. This is highly fortunate as it forced me out of my comfort zone  and, do you know what? It really isn't that difficult. Although to be fair I've probably only been exposed to pretty lovely kids. And nowadays it's even easier because after school they take themselves off to play and barely need me.

Obviously there is the mess to contend with but I'm not exactly a neat freak (you're kidding right?) so I make do with picking up the camouflage blanket off the lawn and occasionally emptying out bottles of perfume onto the flower beds. The rest I mostly step over.

School started back on Tuesday and things are going pretty well already. I think this afternoon shows clearly how far I've come:

Tilly: "Mum can we have some flour? We want to do an experiment"

Me: "Yes, provided you are playing with it outside"

Pause

Tilly: "Can we now have some plastic bottles and some water?

Mum: "Erm yes certainly (raids recycling).

"Mum can we have some pizza dough?

"No."

"Ok what about some butter and yeast?"

"No."

Ten minutes later

"Mum can we have a cheese grater?"

"No."


So there you have it. I feel like I'm getting the hang of this...

The pros and cons of staying in a yurt

There's is nothing like a new experience so this year, instead of an idyllic week's camping the sunshine in Robins Hoods Bay, we opted for staying in a yurt in the pouring rain in Pembrokeshire. If you've never stayed in a yurt this entry might be a useful guide. Or maybe not. Anyway I've decided to do some pros and cons of yurt because, well, the world needs to know frankly.




1. Yurts look really beautiful from the inside. Wooden balcony and fire pit overlooking the view, carved wood, wood burning stove and logs, and in our case two gorgeous leather sofa beds. Lovely.

Of course once you get the beds out and manoeuvre them into the only configuration possible in the limited space you won't turn them back into sofa beds for a full week as it's just too damn hard. So then it looks less beautiful and more like, well, a squat.


2. It's dry and warm in a yurt in the rain. And you don't have to worry about loosening guy ropes and leaking seams. The sound of rain on the roof while you are snuggled up inside warm and dry is truly lovely.

But in the rain it pretty much doesn't matter what camping residence you choose you are going to be going to bed at the same time as the kids. Or if you're lucky you could be swigging warm wine from a mug whilst trying to read the guidebook's short section on "wet weather destinations" by the light of an inadequate torch before you hit the sack a whole half hour after they drop off. I've never felt so relaxed.

3. If you worry about bugs let's just say a yurt wouldn't be your best option. I can still feel the inch long beetle inside my shoe as I type this 5 weeks later.

4. Equally if you worry about rodents you might want to give a yurt a miss. We shared a packet of honey roasted peanuts with what I'm hoping was a very small cute sweet toothed fieldmouse. Of course it could have been a rat.

5. Our yurt had a stand up hob and sink. Really this is a good benefit. I could cook bacon sandwiches inside while other more hardy campers were having barbeques under umbrellas.

But because of the size of a yurt it only came with one table and four chairs. The table was permanently positioned on the balcony, which was frankly optimistic in Wales. The chairs were movable, of course. But just as inevitably we forgot to move them out of the rain and back inside the yurt on more than one occasion. The thought of sodden bottoms made breakfast in bed the only option. I didn't appreciate the kids getting porridge on my pillow.

6. All good points and minor amusements aside there is one factor we still can't ignore. Better than a tent or not, a yurt still doesn't have a toilet. So maybe not getting to drink much wine with my husband was actually a good thing. At least it meant I spent less time trudging across the field in the dark and rain to have a wee watched by a swallow. Ah the countryside.

But don't let me put you off...

Moving On

This is going to be a tricky week for me. My youngest daughter is moving on and I have to try and not burst into tears whenever someone says the "g" word. For the record I am quite possibly the world's biggest sop, especially when it comes to the children, and holding back the tears is not exactly something I excel at. Usually in public. Maybe that's why I keep being followed by life coaches and hypnotists on Twitter.

Anyway back in 2008 I wrote an article for Link Magazine after my eldest daughter started going to Endcliffe Playgroup. It's a gem of a little setting where I discovered I could leave her for a few hours a week to gain a bit of independence while I focused on my baby and had a bit of a break. I wish I could find the article, but I know that essentially I wrote about her beginning to grow up and me having to get used to the idea. Now of course I understand that it was the first step in a very long process of letting go that seems to go along with having children.


I know, I know. It's a cliche to say "how time flies" but now it seems to be 2012 and I really have no clue where on earth the time went.  When Tilly was little people said the time from birth until they start school is gone in a moment. There have been many times when I found that extremely hard to believe (particularly when they wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, threw their faces to the floor in full scale tantrum in car parks that kind of thing). But regardless of all that it's here. The last week of my youngest being a preschooler.


I know now that her starting school in September will be hellish for me. Hopefully not so for her. And hopefully I'll hold it together until I get out of the classroom. But before we reach the next bit of letting go we have to get through this week.


And this week includes me and Phoebe saying goodbye to the very playgroup that helped me out in 2008. She goes to another setting too, and don't get me wrong it's been lovely, but Endcliffe is different. They are a charity and do what they do because they love it, it's as simple as that. They are small and welcoming and have made it possible for me to actually be a part of her preschool learning as a mum, occasional helper and even committee member, whilst still giving her and me some time to ourselves and independence.


I know the staff extremely well and I trust them. I have watched them help so many children with differing needs, and have enjoyed being there as a customer and now as a friend. Phoebe will undoubtedly miss playgroup, and particularly the close friends she has made there. But of course it's time to open the doors for some more little ones and for Phoebe to go through some bigger ones (usually manned by the Headteacher).


I'll give the staff cards and gifts to say thank you, and donate something too for the new children to have fun with. But my final gesture is to ask you to help me spread the word about this place.


You can find playgroup in Endcliffe Methodist Church Hall on Ecclesall Road on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays 9-11.30. It costs £7.25 a session, runs in term time, takes vouchers and all that jazz. And we have a regular toddler group on a Friday morning too from 9.15.

Please email endcliffeplaygroup@talktalk.net to arrange a free visit or call Gina on 0114 2670630. Or try Facebook or Twitter or all those usual means of contact.

So if you live in Sheffield and have a little one who is aged two to four (or turning 2 soon) try it out for free in September. If you know someone who is talking about their little one taking a step to independence please tell them about us. If you don't know anyone with kids heck just send this blog out into the ether anyway what harm can it do?

Thank you. Now I'm going to try not to think about change too much for a minute or two, and go and eat biscuits instead.

Tweezers

Well it's been a while. To be honest I got a bit distracted by something else I've been doing (I've been writing for this), but I'm coming to terms with multiple blog personas so I'm back.

And with what more worthy a topic than...eyebrows. Well you can't just come back with a big life changing topic after several months off can you?

So I had my eyebrows tweezed this morning. To some of you this is perhaps not noteworthy. Maybe you have tweezed/waxed your eyebrows for years. Maybe you don't care about the perfect arch and have never even considered it. Maybe you are a man and don't even know what I'm on about. Or maybe like me you have secretly wondered if you did it whether it would turn you into a siren.

Well I'm here to report that having perfect eyebrows does not make you look slimmer. I know it was an unlikely outcome but you can but hope.

So how did I make the momentous leap? I was trying to have a haircut which I hadn't remembered to book. They couldn't fit me in at the hairdressers so I wandered hopelessly down Abbeydale Road in the pouring rain and randomly decided to take the leap. I know, why eyebrows? Why not a leg wax, a new shade of paint or a tattoo? (Abbeydale Road has a lot to offer on a rainy Friday morning you know). Well they didn't have much time, I have very little cash and I'm a wimp.

I suggested the use of wax. The beautician sucked air through her teeth. Well probably not but it's a lovely image isn't it? Anyway she suggested tweezers. I don't need to go into much detail sufficed to say she pulled out lots of hairs that were frankly invisible to the human eye. The first eye didn't hurt much, the second one was agony. Again I'm exaggerating for effect but it's creative licence.

Afterwards she showed me the results. And then put some make up on to cover up the red bit of skin that "had undergone trauma". I hope it doesn't need counselling.

I came home and after several hours asked the girls if my eyebrows looked different. They looked at me for a prolonged period then said "no". I don't blame them. I can't see any difference either. It was a pretty pointless exercise being ginger and all.

I will be back to the salon. Because the beautician was actually lovely and I deserve a treat every now and again. But maybe next time it'll be something with a more noticeable outcome, or at the very least less pain. And I still need a flipping haircut...