Things that make me smile and don't render me a snivelly mess ...

..... 'cos, you know, lots of stuff does make me a snivelly mess at the mo, so anything that makes me go 'oooh, pretty' or 'oooh, shiny' can only be a good thing! Clearly anyone that knows me knows that Zinfandel Rose tops my list of 'items that can be depended upon to turn Ruth's frown upside down'. I'm the first to admit that I may have a slight dependency issue when it comes to the old Zinfandel, I feel I owe it a debt of gratitude, after all, we almost gave our 'surprise!' baby Leni-lu the middle name Zinfandel in honour of it's part in her creation ... so, clearly Zinfandel makes my list of things that make me smile this week. Good work old friend.

Next up in my 'smile-a-thon' is this;

an amazing piece of art work that I commissioned from my old friend Sandie (view her blog at http://sandiegardinerartandillustration.co.uk/website/Blog/Entries/2012/1/9_VIP.html ) I wanted something personal and lovely for my God daughter's christening present. She and Leni are a tag team of chaos and carnage, we nicknamed them Idi and Lenin when they were babies, and they're a formidable team that make us laugh and pull our hair out in equal measure - being 18 months, their grasp of sharing is sketchy to say the least and they can be hilariously screechy to each other! It's got elements of Edie's Mum and I's friendship all over it - the teapot Sandie included in the piece is my leaky old Emma Bridgewater teapot that we've put the world to rights round too many times to count,  old NZ stamps, the girl's names and Summer 2010 which was our golden time as I recall, both girls were tiny babies, we were on maternity leave, lots of long lazy mornings with cups of tea whilst we breastfed the girls and ate good cake ... happy days of coven meetings. Anyway, I had 2 canvasses made of the print and gave one to Edie and one is currently somewhere on the sea sailing it's way to our new life in the Southern Hemisphere (or it may be the Northern hemisphere, to be fair I can never remember which is which) 

And now, the moment everyone's been waiting for, the answer to the 'what the feckity feck is Ruth going to do without EBay?' question. I'll tell you what shall I? That's right www.trademe.co.nz that's what. A-mazing. I've already sucked Kris into my way of thinking and the boys now have bikes and scooters waiting for them in NZ, Leni has a travel cot and a high chair and I'm under strict orders NOT TO SCOUT IT OUT AGAIN as Kris (apparently) has better things to do with his time than drive round picking up my Trademe bargains. Spoilsport. It's still making my 'smile'list mind!!

Nextly, and maybe most shallow-ly, comes Chanel's Paradoxal nail varnish. It rocks my world right now, especially when covered with a layer of OPI silver shatter varnish. It's the most expensive way of making it look like you've trapped your fingers in a car door ever. Fact. Being back at Mum's means I have access to a nail varnish collection that rivals most supermodel's. 

So, lastly, my Rieker boots. I never thought I'd veer away from my beloved UGGS but *whispers lest her old faithfuls should hear her* these boots make my life better, so much better. They are warm, and chunky, and keep my feet warm and dry *swoon* sorry UGGS, I still love you but these boots look less like a baked potato than you do and have a certain German cool-ness ( I hate to buy into cultural stereotypes but they're pretty solid, functional boots that would probably walk the black forest for years before giving you a blister)  that you're missing. 

Here endeth this week's love list!

And now, the end is near and so I face the final curtain ....

Which actually sounds like I'm about to leave my mortal coil, which is wrong, maybe I should have gone for something slightly less, I dunno, maudlin as my title? Anyway, however sad the lyrics, I've always loved Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' after a booze fuelled college trip to Spain when I was 17, during which myself and 5 friends (one of whom is now top chef and all round good guy Tom Kerridge) got absolutely rat arsed after a trip to Rioja and ended up singing this, at the top of our voices, whilst walking across a sleepy Spanish town square. Bet they loved us. Anyway, fond memories (not of the rioja though, I'm still not able to drink red wine since that very night. Work of the devil. That and Southern Comfort. Bleuughh,  they're like my version of Superman's kryptonite!) Anyway, here I am, ensconced at my Mum's house, with 3 small children,, whilst husband has landed and started the process of getting settled in New Zealand. I know right? When did it all go from 'are we doing the right thing' to 'the real estate guy wants $1500 up front to secure our rental house' .... scary, scary times!

We bid a hideously sad farewell to our little house and all our belongings. Truth be told it was horrendous, absolutely horrendous. I spent the best part of the time between Christmas and New Year in tears, there were boxes everywhere, no sign of me and the children's visas, imminent departure of husband to contend with and saying farewell to our family home. It all got a bit much. Factor in that we had Christmas with 3 small children (and 4 different days with grandparents - the joys of having divorced parents), Mum in law's wedding and my God daughter's christening so emotional 'this will be the last time we do x,y and z' thoughts abounding for everyone - it all made for a tired and tearful family Tovey.

Thankfully things have improved, once the house contents were packed up and gone the process of trying to see our house as 'just a house', as opposed to 'home', was easier. I've managed to emotionally detach from it since all sign of us and the children was removed, though I still get a pang when I walk in to pick up post/switch on the heating and expect to see our things and hear the children bombing round. I also find myself going up and sitting in Leni's old room, which was always the nursery, and trying to capture and hold on to the memories of decorating it for J's arrival, then Ol's and finally Len's. Each nail and screw in the wall takes me back to putting up pictures and shelves for each of them and I will admit I can get quite tearful. I have to remind myself that I actually still have the kids, and how much K and I actually hated DIY and therefore each screw and nail also has an attached memory of he and I bitching at each other! Generally as I accused him of not putting shelves up straight or him accusing me (rightly!) of using blu tac and doing a botch job of putting the bunting up etc Happy days .... hmm, not all the time now I come to think of it! Still, this beautiful old house has seen every major event in our lives for the last 7 years, and they're the biggies, children, getting married etc so it will always hold a special place in my heart. The friends and neighbours we have here are the biggest wrench. We genuinely have some of our closest friends living 2 doors down and 7 doors up and that will be impossible to replace.

I'm dreading the day I close the door of that house for the last time, I know it will be hard, but even now, I still know 100% that what we're doing is the right thing for us. I hope that sustains me in the coming 2.5 weeks because the goodbyes are gong to be a killer. I need to keep focused on the end result - 3 children, living slightly feral by the beach, surrounded by some of the spectacular scenery anywhere in the world. I need to close my eyes and remember the picture on our fridge that started all this .... mountains, clear skies, vast open spaces and the need to give the children an opportunity that we didn't want to pass them by. Deep breaths as I face my own personal 'final curtain' ,saying goodbye to my amazing family and friends. Come on Frank, do your stuff, let's give 'em a rousing chorus ....

So, what have I achieved thus far ....

Gah, what a horrid question to ask yourself, you'll only ever fall short of your childhood ambitions of 'where I should be/have done by the time I'm really old'. In fact, depressingly, I believe I once decreed that anything over 29 was ancient and I would hate to be 'that old'. Fucking youth, it sets you up for a giant fall when you blink and realise that your skin elasticity and days of clubbing 'til dawn are long gone. Do I feel like I've done what I wanted to do? Probably not, I'm not a famous author, nor am I a vet, so my childhood dreams clearly never panned out (in my defence I hate blood/guts/bodily fluids of any kind - human or animal - so my career as a vet would have been severely limited) As for being an author, I never managed the peaceful garret room overlooking the Seine that I'd planned on penning my first best seller from, so on that score it was an epic fail.

What have I achieved? What am I most proud of? Well, the kids for one thing I guess, for someone who can't put together flat pack shelves, growing 3 little human beings was quite an achievement. They give me an ernomous sense of purpose. That's not to say I'm living the dream I had when pregnant with Jbird of floating around wearing White Company outfits and cooking up gourmet food for 3 appreciative Boden catalogue model children whilst still being uber glam, sexy wife. Oh no, no, no - I am screechy Mummy/bad tempered Mummy and over protective Mummy, as well as being lovely Mummy, mummy who bakes and mummy who wants to instill a spirit of adventure in her kids. I am also *shamed face* the kind of wife I swore I'd never be - fat of arse, grumpy of temper and sometimes too tired to talk to my gorgeous husband. I try, truly I do, but after an evening of dinner/bath/bed routine, followed by the washing/dishwasher/tidy the house routine, I'd quite happily skulk off to bed at 9pm. This, apparently, will get easier as the kids either get older or learn to load and unload the dishwasher/washing machine. I'll let you know if it's true. If I have the energy to type.

I'd like to be proud of more though so I'm sat here, wracking my brains trying to come up with more .... am I a good friend? A good daughter/sister? I like to think I am, I can be viciously sarcastic and use humour aa a defence mechanism when I'm nervous, so sometimes I may indicate to people that I'm just not that bothered about them. I am though, I invest a lot in friendships/relationships. Some fall by the wayside naturally, some new ones sneak in when you're not looking and some stand the test of time. The sign of a true friendship is realising that you'd still like that person if you met now, in the present, as opposed to way back when. It's also about realising that you'd still be friends with them even if they didn't know all that dodgy sh*t about you from way back when!

Though they may be little, they be damned loud

I write better than I talk, I always have done, even as a little girl I'd write reams and reams of very-important-things-about-my-life. It's a blessing because I get to scribble my thoughts down and then revisit them (sometimes whilst cringing at my angst at the time) years later, but it's a also a curse in that there are things I'd love to say to people but can never find the words to speak them. I was reading back through a note I wrote when I'd just had Ol and it still makes me misty eyed;

Jakob - came out a ball of fury & doing things his way or no way, had reflux, never ever ever slept, crawled at 4.5 months, walked at 8.5 months, always on the move, fearless, stubborn, independent, loyal, passionate about the things he loves (he could name all of Thomas' side kicks at 12 months and would recite Slinky Malinki word for word not long after that) He's always reserved his smiles and cuddles for a select few and is never won over by fake charm from anyone! His eyes flash dangerously when he's angry or upset but seem to be made of liquid chocolate when he's sad. He makes us laugh like no-one else can and has a wicked sense of humour. He's like quicksilver though, he can be laughing one minute and furious the next.

J's my high maintenance boy and I love him passionately whilst always knowing that he walks his own path and always will. I think I'm just his caretaker until he's old enough to take off on his solo adventures! He'll either be prime minister or in borstal by the time he's 20!!

Oliver - arrived quickly and easily, sleeps like a dream, eats anything we give him (and steals things we don't!) Placid & easy going, he's happy to lie and let the world come to him, has a slow easy smile he bestows on anyone and everyone, loves cuddles, drinks in what his older brother does with a knowing look and a slight air if 'what on earth are you doing?' about him, he's strong but not desperate to move, he can wobble back and forth in an attempt to crawl but is already 2.5 months behind Jakob when it comes to actually moving! He never cries unless he's hungry or hurting.

He'll be my strong silent boy - taking it all in ready to make anything better with a cuddle and beautiful smile. His eyes are like marbles and are grey one day and brown the next, they change like those weird mood rings you used to get! He's a sweetheart.

I love them both equally and I'm glad they're so different!

Wow, what a difference 4 years makes, and how wrong can a parent be? Ol is certainly not my strong silent boy! He is, by all accounts, a whirling ball of complete lunacy. He's devilishly handsome and works a room to his advantage, he's selfish and stubborn and strong willed and I crack far more often than he does. He will either be an international playboy, he does so love nice food and being the centre of attention or a builder, he likes bashing things with other things and taking things apart! He's just started school and part of me knows he's ready (socially anywhow) the other part of me feels a bit tight chested that my just-4 year old is in a class with children who are just-5. I want to cuddle him and tell him he doesn't have to be the loudest, bumpiest in the class to make his mark and be noticed, he just needs to be him, because that's enough, he's wonderful. He's a beautiful soul, inside and out, and he doesn't need to try so hard to impress the bigger boys.

As for J? He's still my warrior, my little pace setter, the boy who leads the way, but he's also a thinker and a muller-over-of-things. He's so clever it makes my heart almost burst with pride. This morning he was ansty because he thought he'd be late for school, and therefore his maths lesson (this is surely no child of mine? I failed GCSE maths no less than 3 times!) He reads voraciously (that one does come from me - maternal 'looking for things that I have passed onto my children' satisfied there) He writes lists and lists of things and stuns me with his appetite for knowledge and facts and whys and whens and hows. He's also a comedian, he comes out with the most wickedly funny one liners and observations. He and Kris have started a book about the move to NZ, every night before bed J writes down questions about NZ and then Kris writes the answers in and they talk about it the next morning. Kris has also started adding pictures (of Lake Taupo, the sky tower, a mountain range and a marlin) Last night's entry by Jakob, underneath the picture of the mountain range simply said 'this is not a question Daddy, this (arrow to the picture) is beautiful'.

And then there's Leni-lou. What can I say about Leni-lou? I hesitate to use the expression of 'little Princess' but that's exactly what she is. Her brothers adore her, and she adores them, though there are moments when she'll be squealing at them and they'll be yelling at me to get her away from the lego/pencils/gogos they're playing with, and at those moments you'd be hard pushed to feel the love in the room! As is her genetic predisposition, she's stubborn, determined and forthright. Even my lovely Mum (who, don't forget, has raised me and my siblings - a trio of stubborn, noisy, self righteous beings if ever there was one) has had to admit that Elena brings with her a special kind of determined. She is very sweet though, and though I know all parents think their children are beautiful (as they should) she is particularly delicious. She's not classically pretty or especially 'bonny baby competition' but she's sparky and fiery and gorgeous and interesting to look at. I can spend hours wtaching her little head bent over some task, taking in her little curls, feline eyes and chubby cheeks. My friend Suz once gave me a badge after she visited the RSC, which took pride of place on Leni's change bag for a while, it said 'though she may be but little, she be fierce' .... I like to think William Shakespeare had a premonition of a sparky little girl called Elena when he wrote that, because never a truer word has been spoken about anyone!

Stick a fork in me, I'm done (in) Friday musings ....

Friday, Friday, my how you've changed. I remember a time when Friday meant counting down the minutes 'til 5pm and then high tailing it out of work to the nearest wine bar, debit card ready for another weekend of impromptu partying and catching up with friends (particularly my good friends Pinot and Grigio) Life has changed incredibly in the last 15 years, my early to late twenties were spent in a blur of friends/booze/work/clubbing/buying stupidly expensive shoes and bags and generally being young, free and single.

I met Mr T many years ago but we didn't get 'together' as a couple until we were 27. Throughout my entire late teens and mid twenties I was foot loose and answered to no-one, I had my own flat and loved being completetely irresponsible and pleasing only myself. Though actually, that's not strictly speaking true, I did have one ill advised 'engagement' and a couple of unsuitable flings but nothing and no-one had ever made me want to clear a space in my girl-pad for any man and their assorted smells & noises. Until Mr T. One horrific home cooked meal (it smelt like sick and looked worse quite frankly) a few dates later and he moved in - african mask, golf clubs and all.

So my thirties hit me a bit like a freight train, 2 days before my 30th birthday I did the ol' peeing on a stick routine and BAM, what do ya' know, I was pregnant. Life changed as soon as those 2 lines appeared. No more long, lazy (in truth, hungover) weekends. Now we had a baby to think about. All I remember from being pregnant with Jbird is an overwhelming urge to eat chicken and rice. Poor Mr T, every evening he'd hopefully ask what we were having for dinner (my inner 50's housewife having reared her head, I was doing most of the cooking at this stage) and every night the answer would be the same 'chicken, rice and tomatoes'. Poor bloke. 5 months of that he put up with. Anyway, Jbird arrived, shook our world, changed the way we looked at things and made us realise we quite liked being parents. We didn't like the projectile vomit much (reflux) nor the late nights(J's a party animal, always has been and didn't sleep through until he was nearly 3) but mostly we liked this sparky, energetic little creature with the ernomous brown eyes. So, that's where Oli-in-the-middle entered our lives, a gentle, placid wee soul who shocked us both by showing us that we could love another baby as much as we did his older brother. The gentle, placid wee soul turned out to be a fire cracker mind you, so initial appearances can be deceptive it seems. We were happy with our two little blokes, life was getting easier, Ol was starting school in 18 months and we were getting used to not having to cart pushchairs/nappies etc etc around with us. What's that? Yep, Oli-in-the-middle is Oli-IN-THE-MIDDLE indicating there's another one. Our little surprise, our brucie bonus, the full house, icing on the cake Leni-lou.

Now there's a shocker, not only was she a big suprise (well, as surprising as being pregnant when you're 36 and have done it twice before can be anyway!) but she's a whole new kind of little T. Where her brothers have dark, flashing eyes and mops of dark brown curls, she has the most amazing grey eyes and blonde curls. Truly a genetic throw back to her maternal grandmother's Scottish ancestry .... and two fingers up to her Dad's dark Spanish genes which we thought was a dead cert to bully out any recessive pale genes that I carry.

That's us in a nutshell, 2 parents, 3 kids, an axllotl (look it up, all I'll say is I'm mighty glad that thing can't be imported to NZ and will have to be found a new home!!) There's nothing extraordinary about us, we don't set the world alight or save lives on a daily basis but I do know for a fact that my kids are the most amazing, beautiful, clever, funny kids in the entire world. Ever. I'd even go so far as to say that I pity other parents that they don't have my kids ... because that's been my biggest life lesson since my good friends Pinot and Grigio were tossed aside for nappies and night feeds - every parent feels that way about their children. Your children will drive you demented by moments but you know that they're the most important people in the world. So, whilst you're reading this, you're probably thinking 'ha, I pity HER not having MY kids' and that's ok, because we both know that I'm thinking the same about you.

Happy Friday!

And the winner is ..... Mummy!

This evening, dinner time, that time of day that usually puts me in mind of witching hour and seems to render my children unable to speak to me without whingeing. Oli-in-the-middle is our little fruit bat, the child will mainline as much fruit as you can possily throw at him at any given time, will he eat a vegetable though? Nope, not if he can see it anyways (hence my stunning ability to hide veg in all manner of things!) Anyway, he's 4, he's always been like this and I've grown used to watching him eat everything except the veg on his plate so have just assumed that was how he'd stay. Jbird will eat pretty much anything as long as you give you him a full rundown of what it's doing to his body (slightly boring at every meal but we do the whole 'this provides Vit C/D/Iron and makes you run/jump higher/faster') He's happy with that, J's our little athlete so reassurances that by eating veg he'll retain his 'fastest boy in Y2' crown always work their magic. Leni-lou's another voracious eater and is happy as long as noone interferes with the way she wants to eat. I look back fondly on the days when I could spoon feed her, she's now insistent she can do it and has a total freak if you dare try and do it for her. My walls/floor/table are testament to her fiercely independent streak when it comes to feeding!

So, today, after a day of one tantrum after another *grits teeth, I know, I know, he's just started school, he's tired and strung out and this too will pass but c'mon, give me a break, he's been HORRIBLE* it was dinner time. Tonight's dinner was pizza and steamed veg, a mid week standby for days when I don't have the inclination/energy/brain power to come up with ways to hide veg in proper food stuffs. It's pretty standard Ol behaviour to eat the pizza 'as long as it's not touching the vegetables' and leave anything green/leafy/vitamin filled on his plate. This evening, after an afternoon spent in meltdown for various reasons (slipping on the wooden floor and 'breaking my foooooot', Peppa Pig not being on, his milk cup being 'just wrong' etc etc etc ad infinitum) the child ate every last thing on his plate - babycorn, broccoli, carrots and peas. Every.thing. And then had seconds, all the while telling me chirpily how much he 'loves carrots, they make my eyes see better'. This is the child who even as a weaning baby would resolutely seal his mouth shut if I veered a spoon full of broccoli smush too close. The child who, aged 18 months, made himself puke rather than ingest a pea.

He had seconds!!! I can't tell you how much I wanted to stand on the table doing a victory dance whilst chanting 'in your face Ol, told you you'd eat veg one day, you looooose, I win!' I may do it later, in private, to myself.

One small step for Ol-kind, one giant leap for Mummy-kind .... mind you, he's staying for lunch at school tomorrow and having hot dinners (he's been packed lunches up until now) so I wish the dinner ladies (sorry, midday supervisors) all the luck in the world with him. Bet they're far too professional to do a victory dance anyway.

'So, Mr T, shall we emigrate?'

And that's how it all started, a throw away comment at the end of another long day for both of us, both tired, and a bit fed up of working our arses off (mainly Mr T I have to say .... I only work 2 days a week so the old 'long hours/working my arse' thing doesn't really apply) We looked at each other and just said 'why not?' not really thinking the other would go for it and, like so many pipe dreams, it'd just fade into the recesses after a while, but it didn't, this time it stuck.

To be honest I've always known that Mr T wanted to travel again, he spent a chunk of time in Fiji/Australia and New Zealand when he was a young backpacker and had fallen in love with NZ in particular. Me? Not so much, we moved around a fair bit when I was younger (Paris, Lyon, Wilsthire, Somerset, Lincolnshire and finally Gloucestershire - did you think it was going to read like a fashion mag? Paris, NY, Milan? Did the addition of 'Wiltshire' throw you?!) so my wanderlust was never really as pronounced as Mr T's. I've always been a bit of a homebird, putting down roots and familiarity are my 'thing' - I don't do spontaneous, or madcap or 'just for the hell of it', which is probably why my willingness to even discuss taking our little family halfway round the world came as such a shock to Mr T. Discuss it we did though, at length, and I could see his eyes light up with the excitement of it all and I got so caught up in it all, and so pleased to see how happy it made him, that before we knew it he had phone interviews lined up and guide books were bought, and giggled conversations were being had about 'when we live in NZ ...'.

There's a photo stuck to our fridge of a mountain on the South Island of NZ, it's reflected in the water so looks like it's rising out of another mountain, it's surrounded by water and there's a blue sky and scudding clouds above it. It's a beautiful photo and I've often looked at it and thought 'how beautiful that is, how amazing to have been able to see that' and then thought no more of it, until I pass the fridge next time and glance at it again. That photo's taken in new significance now because whenever I look at it I think 'it WILL be amazing to see that, and all the other things that are out there to see'.

It's been hard even getting to this point - the point at which we WILL go, we just don't know WHEN yet. There have been tears and a lot of sadness though, the feeling that things will never be the same again once we board that plane is a very powerful one. There are moments when I want to call the whole thing off and just stay near my Mum and all the things that are so familiar to me. I don't feel ready to take on the world, just me, my 3 beautiful children and wonderful husband. I want to be young and be looked after and told everything will be fine. I know it will be, fine I mean, because I know that whatever happens I have the most amazing kids who are going to benefit so much from being shown what else is out there. And there is more out there that they deserve to see and be a part of - there are volcanoes and mountains and the Tasman sea and whales and snow and the most amazing sunsets and rises. And there's sport to be played and waves to be ridden and sand to be felt beneath their toes. It's all there for them to experience and we can give it to them, we just need to get this horrible, hard bit out the way first. The first flight away from 'home' and all the people we love so much, who are our rocks and our drinking buddies and the people we laugh with/cry with and would do anything for. The one thing I hope we leave with them all is that this move isn't about escaping anything or anyone in the UK, we love this country and our life here, I just can't help but feel that there's a whole life out there that we need to experience or we'll always wonder 'what if' and I don't want to be that 'what if' person anymore, I want to be the person who said 'come on, let's just do it'.