Groove is in the words... (a big thank you).

Every record had to count. Each and every single one. I used to plan sets with so much thought, so much precision, second guessing the night's audience, picturing their reactions, their well honed tastes, and my strategy usually worked. Bulls eye. But I had to allow for flexibility, the ability to switch flow at the sight of flagging hips or flailing arms, or even worse, the sight of a naked dance floor. I had to move like water. Music weaves and circles and undulates; it isn't earth. Perhaps we could have flown through midnight stars into the electric heart of a supernova, or down into the purple depths where flesh pink jelly fish swim and moon white mermaids dance among beaded pearls in the four-four thump thump thump of the current. I was good. My selection, my timing, my connection to the dancing pulse. I thought it would last forever, that I'd always be a DJ, couldn't see anything else, certainly nothing beyond the grooves in the vinyl. I had no idea that this was only an apprenticeship, that I was learning to write, that every set I played had a beginning, a middle, and an end...

...The most creative insights aren't necessarily carved from smooth and easy surface, but from dark and grizzled crevasse, the jagged textures. Everything grows from shit. In transpersonal psychotherapy there is a saying; to breakdown to breakthrough. Who would have thought that the postnatal years would lead to possibly my life's work, aside from motherhood, writing. When I began blogging I never considered myself a writer, and here I am, several years on, with three blogs and a self-published anthology, Seasons of Motherhood. Maybe I am a writer after all (I've never harboured much confidence).

So I'm incredibly pleased to announce that I've been shortlisted as a semi finalist in the Writer Category of the BiBs, The Brilliance in Blogging Awards. I am chuffed to pieces about being selected; it actually means a lot to me. I want to thank you, my very loyal and wonderful readership, and anyone else who took the time to consider my blog and vote for Older Mum in a Muddle. There are readers, other bloggers, who have stuck with me since the very beginning, and some of you have become very real friends - this blogging malarky is an amazing thing.

And now I am in a muddle and feeling self conscious and embarrassed *urrgghh I don't like this* and have to ask for one last vote as I would dearly love to make the final six in my category, so er, please could you vote for me?

Every vote really counts. The Writer category this year is very tough, and I'm sadly competing against some of my very favourite bloggers..... so thank you, and thank you for reading me.

I Heart You

When I arrived at the front door I paused. Only a forty minute bridge between another world and domesticity. I looked at the swag bag leaning against my calf. A vivid green dinosaur, a box of Special K, biscuits, children's books. And what lay behind the red door? Piles of washing? Toys strewn over the floor? And as my feet walked over the threshold, I heard the screaming. Little A. Younger Dad - upset I'd come home to this, his face sagging - pleaded with that look in his eyes - 'please put her to bed, please?' My first thought, 'aagghh', my second, 'do I have to do this?' I barely had 48 hours of chatting and cake eating and tea drinking behind me. And so I kissed my girl good night in a daze, my head still in the froth and buzz of the event at The Brewery.

My first weekend away without Little A. And Younger Dad did me proud. They got through the night. A sleeping team. He managed one wash, the clothes basket still next to the machine, a limp shirt arm hanging over the rim. There were fewer toys scattered around than I anticipated. But no sweeping, that critical watershed chore - a marker of the end of day, the beginning of the evening. Still the boy done good.

When I finally sat down, we poured out the contents of the goody bag onto the laminate floor - the moon shaped hazel nut thins demolished within minutes, a surprise pile of books and toys left on the table for Little A. And then something happened, I experienced a kind of shell shock. All that build up, counting down the weeks, the days, and then nothing. What next? What was I aiming for now? In my despondency I bought next year's ticket. I wanted to do it all over again.There and then.Younger Dad looked at me incredulously like I'd swallowed a mardy wasp and a hairy goat - you've bought next years ticket already? And after all the excitement of meeting a literary agent, reading a post to 500 willing (I hope) listeners, I just couldn't get it together over the following days, like reacting to the concertinaed effect of a long haul flight. Emotionally jet lagged. I didn't read much. I didn't write much. I didn't do anything very much. It's been hard to let go....

....of all the inspiring and supportive bloggers I hung out with, and met for the first time. Will I have to wait another twelve months before I see everyone again? I truly hope not. Laughing, sharing, hugging, joking, it makes the whole thing so real. Not some social media illusion. When I place my palm flat on the computer screen, I know yours is touching behind. Friendship.

And this year I didn't attend many workshops. There was a technical expert who spoke so fast, his head too small for the fizz-bang-whizz of thoughts, I wondered how he slept at night. Instead, I caught up with friends and ate biscuits. There wasn't enough cake though. No, not enough. I bemoaned the lack of chocolate brownies during the breaks. One needs sponge in hand -  thick slices of madeira or lemon drizzle - to pace oneself through serious hours of chatting and networking. I even missed a paddling pool sized portion of trifle at lunch.

There was a mother, brave and hurting. I watched her from afar. A thick chocolate brown bob. Clear, youthful skin. An open, welcoming smile. I wanted to say hello. To tell her how much I've held her in my thoughts. I couldn't muster the courage. I was too shy. Her sleeping babe among the stars. Beautiful, cherished Matilda Mae.
 
And then there was the Bloggers Keynote. The highlight. The irrepressible Katy Hill. An uplifting tribute to Kerry. Readings witty and poignant and powerful. And mine. That post. I did it. An emotional moment for me. To articulate my struggle after Little A's arrival to a roomful of silent listeners. I took a moment, inhaling a deep breath before I sang Happy Birthday.... and I think I hit the right note.

Britmums Live is a festival full of heart. You are never alone in your words. Not ever...

And it's become an annual milestone for me. This blog has come a long way since the conference a year ago. Where will I be in 2014? In my dreams, I know where I'd like to be. Let's wait and see.

Britmums Live, I heart you.

In fact, I heart you so much, I've bent a personal golden rule - only once mind - and included pictures of someone, dear reader, you might know!

#One Week - Spring '13 - A Few Warm Days

When I was a child, I would save my stash of best and favourite sweets until last - a bag of sherbet, a curly wurly, half-melted maltesers - so they wouldn't run out, that I would have an endless supply hiding under my bed. Even as a fully-fledged adult, I like to take my time over a baked vanilla cheesecake or strawberry crumble soaked in custard - the very, very last mouthful waiting on the plate until I am completely ready, my taste buds on full alert for that final bite.

And this is how I feel spring has treated us this year. She has saved her best until last - these first days of June, the curly wurly, that last morsel of crumble. After all the mood swings, she has finally blessed us with sunshine. It's lifted my spirits. It's improving my complexion. I'm feeling creative - the fingers made for writing have even weeded the garden this week!

Spring has been a heady cocktail of change and movement. A new home and a new pre-school. And I couldn't be happier for Younger Dad, Little A and I. Apart from re-plumbing the entire kitchen sink and the half-functioning hob and the bathroom leek and the fridge freezer exhaling one last breath, I so love... love... love... living here. Moving house was full of hiccups but the journey well worth the extra sliver hairs. Still, I would rather not repeat the process for a long, long time.



And through all the sorting and clearing and mending and refurbishing, I have managed to make time for my second love, my writing. My words are beginning to bloom. I have made great inroads with my novel, Four Gigs, having now written around sixteen thousand words, and I have decided to attend The Festival of Writing in York this coming September. I can't quite believe the path that blogging has led me down. It's amazing. It really, truly is.

When I thought the going couldn't get any better, I found myself shortlisted as a semi-finalist in the Britmums in Brilliance Awards (BiBs), and have been asked to read this post at the blogger's key note speech at the end of the conference. What an honour! I am so excited. I am so nervous. And I feel for those 500 attendees who will suffer my personal slaughter of Happy Birthday. Marilyn Monroe I am not.

Bring your ear plugs...

I never thought I would hear myself say it, but I am glad this windy, soggy spring is behind us. 

Summer is thankfully on our doorstep. The longest day nearly upon us. 

The Pimms, the BBQ's, the holidays. Wimbledon, strawberries, green salads. 

And over the weeks of July and August I am slowing the blog down - taking a break - as I need to concentrate on the novel. 

I am looking forward to a long, lazy, slow summer. Are you? 

This is the final day of the seasonal linky One Week. I wanted to say a big, big thank you to all those lovely bloggers who joined in, and those who commented, and tweeted, in support of this project.

One Week will hopefully return this summer. Get your cameras at the ready and imaginative hats on! The date planned - 9-13 September - is sandwiched between a week away and the writing festival. I am considering either leaving it, or just running the linky over a couple of days instead of the usual five. 

For more details about One Week, take a gander here. You can join in for one, two ... or the full five days...

Badge Code ...

<a href="http://older-mum.blogspot.co.uk/p/one-week.html" title="One Week"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8436/7807711152_5f912c7903_m.jpg" width="225" height="169" alt="one week" /></a>

Angel Clouds

Maybe I had too much hot chocolate. All that sugar.

Up. Up. Up.

Like a hot air balloon. Light headed and floating among angel clouds.

Excited. The anticipation. The expectation.

Will I make it? Will I see my name in lights?

I know what's going on though, this want of recognition. I am hoping this time they will take note.

It arrives.

The results are in.

I scroll down the page. My name. My name. Where's my name?

It's not there.

Two minutes ago I had wings, now I'm falling like a bomb.

But... but... but... all that hard work I did? All those colourful words I wrote?

Crestfallen. Disappointed.

And it takes me back to the nine to three and break times and the stiff grey uniform and being that girl the boy never fancied and red marker all over my carefully crafted work. A perennial B student. The middling to bottom streams. Unclassified in maths O'level. Unclassified in general studies.

One solitary A in English though. And captain of the lacrosse team.

Is competition - hot housed in those early years - a good or a bad thing?

I don't like the effect it has on me. Brings out the best and the worst.

But I'm not bitter. Absolutely not.

So pleased at how far I have come.

So grateful to be a part of this landscape of words and friendship and support.

If anything, it helpfully mirrored back my eternal motivation.

What lies beneath.

That after all these years, I am still trying to please mum and dad.

Welcome

Damn. The entire hob needs replacing - the back rings aren't safe, they're worn down like weathered fossils. The tiny electric shower head coats water like flour through a sieve, light and drizzly. Damp pock marks the pink wall in Little A's bedroom. Why hadn't we noticed this during the viewings? Today the sink flooded the kitchen floor. At the moment, I can hear the drip, dripping into the bucket underneath the piping.

When one rents, the property usually works.

When one buys, well, like a treasure hunt of errors, there are often lots of niggles to be found.

Welcome to our new home.

We wanted a project. And now we have one.

And I absolutely love living here.

At long last Little A has a garden. I can watch clothes floating like tethered kites on the line, drying in a mid afternoon breeze. It's such a novelty living in a house, not a flat. I walk upstairs to bed. I walk downstairs to breakfast. The kitchen is on the same floor as the living room - in our old flat, the kitchen had been carved into the attic space, casseroles made with wide views of tiles and chimneys from the small roof window.

The move. Sweat and dust, lots of dust. The men in blue t-shirts arrived at 9.00 am, climbing stairs, carrying boxes, a line of worker ants. In a matter of hours they were done, their lorry filled with the complete history of our family of three. Then, potential disaster, "Mummy, mummy, I can't find Peso." Peso is Little A's rabbit, her favourite teddy. "Don't worry, he'll be in a box somewhere." "But mummy, I want him NOOOOW." Think. Think. Think. Solution. Fast. Younger Dad doesn't like my idea, but it's the best option. On our way to our new home, I take a detour into Chiswick, to a toy shop on Turnham Green, a shop with an entire row of Peso's. "Oh s'ankyou mummy, I'm going to call this one Pinto." Now she's a happy bunny for the forty minute trip up the M40 and beyond.

The first evening Little A's bedroom is assembled, our bed made, old curtains loosely hung over the bay window rails. Peso is recovered from a card box box marked essentials. We eat fish and chips soaked in ketch-up out of the paper. We share a thick melting chocolate ice cream in the back garden. A swig of cool beer straight from the bottle tastes so good.

In bed that night, something irks Younger Dad, like an itch on the ball of a well socked foot tightly laced in a walking boot. "You've got to be kidding me... why hadn't this come up on my research... this is totally doing my head in." The echoing neeeeeoooooows are unmistakable. We have moved under the flight path of airborne traffic headed north east of Heathrow. It just so happens tonight is particularly busy, a neeeeeoooooow every five minutes. "Stop laughing would you....." I think it's hilarious, a home from home, a reminder of our life in West London.

The kitchen is unpacked. The living space made homely by a few choice paintings, the all important mantel piece looks inviting - the 'welcome' cards, the wedding present by my best friend, H, taking centre stage. We have shifted the many remaining boxes against a wall in the lounge - there are big plans afoot, projects that are likely to begin this year - an extension, maybe a double, at the rear, a master bedroom in the loft.

Of course there are repairs that need immediate attention, but we are living and breathing and functioning in our wonderful new home. And the best part is that Little A is settled and happy - she's really enjoying her new preschool, her new friends. She sculpts faces, makes puzzles out of the tawny pebbles covering the patio and pathway areas of the garden. She glides up and down the laminate flooring on her scooter. She looks forward to play dates with her little cousins, a five minute walk away.....

I think we are going to be here for a long, long time.  


Amazingly, unbelievably, I have made the shortlist of the Britmums BIBS Awards under the category, Lifestyle. I am so ruddy grateful to everyone who voted for Older Mum in a Muddle. Now if you would like to see me in the Lifestyle final six, then please, please, please vote for me one final time. The champagne is on me if I make it this far...... (nominations close on 12th May)

Life Style is...

...A way of life or style of living that reflects the attitudes and values of a person or group.

Apparently.

Over the last day or so, I've been mulling over the style of my living - the daily routine, my values - or lack of, my emotional well being, my physical health. And I felt flummoxed after these brief analyses between loading washes, sealing up removal boxes - the best I could come up with was frustratingly undefinable, nebulous, smokey-grey. I'm er... my days are... I value - umm? Oh! I am a stay-at-home mum!... Er, er I write, um, I'm a writer... I'm healthy - pah! - you're kidding yer sen!    

I can say with absolute conviction that I'm not living in any style at present - the hair needs a radical re-colouring, the bed covers - well less said the better, there's strange green stuff - straggly seaweed - frozen onto the back of the fridge, and come Wednesday evening - today - we will all be eating pizza out of greasy cardboard...

...and... and... I bite my finger nails.

Life and the stylising of it, was once so simple, well it certainly felt that way, like furnishing a shop window display - every activity, every thought, every feeling had it's place. Life was ordered. Controlled. I meditated. I yoga'ed. I ta chi 'ed. I ran. I cycled. I swam. I had a job. I studied at college. I wore flattening'ish clothes. Even The Pendulati - my cumbersome breasts - knew their size, maintained their position above waist height. And life felt emotionally easier too - I had time to process, contain, accept. Feelings flowed, weren't buried under the demands of others...     

My life now, is, well, sort of more abstract, in a Mark Rothko kind of way - colours blending, merged, lacking any definition. I don't mind at all. It's just that it's a far cry from what I was once accustomed to. After three years, I am still acclimatising to motherhood. My days are a vacuum filled with routine and dirty dishes and folding clothes and emotional holding and meeting the demands of Little A. Don't you know this kind of day so well? And before I go to bed, waving another farewell to the hours behind me, I take my anti-depressants. I need them.

After the shock of birth, the trauma, the sky-raising anxiety, the depression, the one thing that has pulled me from domestic quick sand, that has moulded me into back a woman - a functioning one, has been my writing - this blog.

So I was really honoured, extremely taken a-back, to find that I had been shortlisted in the Britmum's BiBs Awards under Lifestyle. If I am honest, I was surprised to find myself in this category. I would never in a million years have classified my blog as a lifestyle one - I don't cover crafts or health or fashion, but I guess I do tell stories about my life. Still, there are readers out there who beg to differ. Thank you all very, very much, I am really grateful for your votes of appreciation.

I have never plugged my blog in this way before. I feel a little shy doing it. But as this is a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity, I thought why not!  The next stage of the nominations is the voting which closes on May 12th. There will only be six finalists, two chosen by Britmums. Er, so, I am appealing to your generosity, your good will, to vote for me one final time. I would love to make the finals and Older Mum in a Muddle is up against some very stiff competition in this category - some really, really talented writers.

Your vote really counts - I'll buy you a bottle of champagne, make you lemon drizzle cake in return!

Thank you for reading Older Mum in a Muddle.

Vote Here
XXX 

Snowed Under

It's time for a spring clean - ironic really, given the snow flurrying outside, that I'm wearing an extra pair of bed socks, an additional woollen maternity cardigan hanging over my stripey jumper.

Should it really be like this at the end of March? Younger Dad doesn't seem to think so. But I can still remember the long, extended, snowy winters of my childhood - the 1970's - white Easters with big fat wet flakes settling on the lawn, hiding the purple crocuses, confusing the migrated birds - home from sunnier climes.

And so to the clean up.... not my wardrobe, or Little A's toys, or Younger Dad's pile of Which magazines, but my on line mail. For the last year or so, I've woken to the bold black list of numerous unread emails choking my inbox, a stress inducing sight first thing in the morning - How many are there to read today? Where will I find the time? - over a-would-be calming bowl of porridge (with added fruit). But today I completed the changes I've been making over the last few days - there will be no more posts raining on my yahoo account screaming READ ME, READ ME. I love the blogs I've subscribed to but it was becoming overwhelming - like piles and piles of homework. So I've moved all my reading over to Blog Lovin - please don't be offended if you see I've unsubscribed to you, I'm now enjoying your posts over there.

This evening my inbox was like a freshly mown lawn, trimmed and tidy. Now I just need to deal with the few unexpected weeds - those requests from PR's and marketers asking for endless plugs that are totally at odds with the theme of my blog. Can you see 'How to Improve Your Financial Savings' nestling along side Once Upon a Time and One Week? No. Neither can I.  

And that, sadly, apart from two delightful evenings spent in lovely female company, has been the highlight of my week. My inbox. You see, I'm stressed at the moment - very stressed. I've taken to resting as much as I can for a mummy and eating one too many M&S chocolaty bites. The house move is taking it's toll, and there has been other unfortunate news too. The move was set to take place the beginning of April but the date of completion is slipping ever in the wrong direction. And we are in the dark as to what is happening further up the chain - Have their mortgages been fully approved? Have all the surveys been completed? Our seller's solicitor is being vague with our solicitor, our buyers worry we are going to pull out, we are stressing the same of them, our seller is being unnervingly quiet - I think she's stalling, I fret about the chain staying intact... and so it goes on and on.

I dearly want to move into our new home. I love the area we are relocating to - the family connections, the schools, the slower pace of life.

If the upper chain falls apart - please, no, no, no - we have decided to sell our flat, up sticks, and rent in Croxley Green. In the meantime, if the completion date moves beyond the 12th April, I will be ferrying Little A forty minutes back and forth to her new pre-school - I've already decided I'm going to plant myself in the nearby library and write while my daughter paints and dresses up with her new friends.

I want to start sorting - organise those books that will go into storage, and the unread paperbacks that will sit on the bookshelves of our new home. I want to start packing, to hear the stretching sound of masking tape on cardboard as our memories are squeezed tightly within the boxes. Limbo. Limbo. Limbo.

Blimey, I'm wound up like a spring at the moment - which brings me back to today's unseasonal weather.

Spring - where are you? Please come soon. Come brighten up my day. Bring us hope and a house move with your sunshine. Please...

If you enjoy reading Older Mum in a Muddle, please spare a thought for me in the Britmums Brilliance in Blogging Awards - The BIBS - there are sixteen great categories to chose from but I think I'm best placed in the writers category. You can click on the badge below to take you through to the nomination form on the Britmums page..... Thank you! X.

S.M.I.L.E.

Last week I decided upon a wee break from the blogosphere. And what did I fill the empty hours with? Well, playing nurse to a cranky little girl with a chest and ear infection, and bemoaning that I too had a blocked nose and spluttering cough. Maybe succumbing to a virus has been a blessing in disguise, as it meant an enforced break, to a degree, from this here blog.

So it's time to cheer away the Autumn sniffles, return to writing, and what better way than deliberating over the many silver linings from the past few days (and coming weekend).

Restyled, therefore I am. I really should have my haircut more often. A six month gap between visits to the local coiffeurs is a gap too long. As my hair flows beyond my shoulders, it's all too easy to tie it up in a knot and forget about the tangled growth. Ashamedly, and to the tut tutting from my late Grandmother, my scalp has rarely seen the tooth of a comb. So on Saturday, I removed the hair band, sat back with an out dated, over fingered magazine, and let the hairdresser sculpt my tresses. I never seem to finish the complimentary tea and Nice biscuit, my attention always seduced by the pages of Hello. Anyway, I was delighted with the results. Three inches taken off, my hair now bounces like a newborn lamb on a trampoline. A good hair cut always make me feel good, brand new, years younger. This morning, I dyed away the grey, and with that, all my neurotic worries about ageing, and my impending *cough* *cough* 42nd birthday wafted into the ether. Now all I need is a new pair of jeans (and tops, and jumpers, and shoes, and knickers)...

Blogging Conference. This Saturday I'm attending the Mumsnet Blogfest. It was a spur of the moment decision. I really, really enjoyed Britmums Live, and when I found that a number of my blogging buddies were going, I thought why the heck not? It's a date for me and my blog. And to anyone going, please hunt me down. I'm a very friendly, approachable sort of gal. I even have a nice S.M.I.L.E. Sold? I hope so! Additionally, I'm very much looking forward to meeting the faces behind some lovely new blogs I've had the pleasure of recently discovering; Grandad Came To Tea, The Pretty Good Life.

Novel Idea. I've had bursts of inspiration for tucking and tweaking some of the plot lines of my novel, Four Gigs. I find that it's really useful to let thoughts percolate in the background, and then ta daaa, my mind surprises me with improvements to the original story lines. I've also had a canny idea for developing my characters; a scrapbook on Pinterest. Instead of a lengthy exercise of cutting images from magazines, I like the idea of quickly collating all manner of character (facial, clothes, diet, hobbies), and location (streets, buildings, landmarks) details using a Pinterest board. I'm genuinely excited at how my imagination is shaping the story, how I find myself slipping into the shoes of my main protagonist, viewing the world as she does. I'm not ready to start the writing just yet, there's still some further research to do, but nevertheless, I'm raring to unleash my fingers on the keyboard...

To buggy or not to buggy. For nearly three years now I have pushed Little A around in a three wheeled Mountain Buggy. Given that I live in London and to my knowledge there are no mountains, in fact, not a whiff of a mole hill, I never thought this was the most practical choice of pram. I don't know why, but while I was pregnant, I handed over the most important decision on baby gear - the buggy - to Younger Dad and a battered copy of Which Magazine. I was hormonal. I was completely mad. But I wasn't totally wrong in trusting my husband's judgement either. The Mountain Buggy has been reliable, sturdy, fulfilled its purpose. It's also very, very heavy. This week though, there was a new arrival in our home. I am now the proud owner - thank you ebay - of a super folding, light weight Maclaren. At last, I can manage the crowds in Westfield. At last, I can tackle The Underground. At last, the escalator is no longer the enemy. At last, a whole new social panorama has opened to me.

A new blog. Last Friday spontaneity got the better of me, and I created The Adventures of Parsley Pug. It's a frivolous space for the sole aim of writing children's stories. Many, many moons ago, I conjured up the character, Parsley Pug, and Younger Dad has been pressing me to write the stories ever since. I doubt I will post that often, I don't expect many page views, but then I'm not that bothered, as this blog is personal, for me, my imagination, my sense of wonder, and fun.

One Week. This week, virus permitting, I've been gearing up for One Week, which begins next Monday. I've edited my photographs and somehow managed to pen a few words through the barricades of a fuggy head, tiredness and heaps of snotty tissues. So come to think of it, I haven't strictly had a break from blogging. Anyway, if you are at a loss for inspiration, please join in!

Now that was a shameless plug!

I'm linking up this post with Reasons To Be Cheerful, it's been a while!

A Bus Strike and a Clubbing Experience

Typical. There was a bus strike. I was completely unaware of this until a helpful passer-by politely pointed at the electronic sign above my head. In red neon it shouted the words all commuters dread, INDUSTRIAL ACTION. Why the heck hadn't I noticed this before? Oh no. Not today. Not at the start of Britmums Live. I'm going to have to walk the long walk to the tube. And fast. Until the moment that stranger had redirected my attention, I'd been sitting absent mindedly on the unyielding plastic bench of the bus shelter for nearly twenty minutes, my faith in London transport still intact.

It was on my hurried half-run to the station that I finally became aware of the distinct lack of public transport snarling Uxbridge Road, and the unusual throng of frustrated looking pedestrians busying like ants in the same direction as me. How had I not noticed these glaring clues earlier? Then providence gracefully stepped in. I glanced intuitively over my shoulder and spotted something heavenly. A lone double decker. And it was rumbling towards me. I was luckily within an ear shot of a bus stop and flagged the renegade vehicle. A gasp of calming relief escaped my mouth as the bus indicated and pulled to the curb. It was packed but I squeezed on between stiff Summer raincoats and bullying shoulder bags. I'd made it ...

... And I was on time for the pre conference meet up at the coffee shop. But a large chai latte couldn't assuage my nerves. Britmums Live was my first blogging conference and it seemed like one giant blind date. Only this date had a narrative twist. I don't think I've been in a situation where I'm meeting someone in the flesh for the first time and they already know many intimate details about my life. What would my cyber friends think of me? Was there a believable and fluid congruency between my written word and the real life me? Would I lose some of my on line mystique? I needn't have worried though as this weekend I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with a group of welcoming, genuine, warm, and thoroughly supportive women.

And the conference? Well I spent the first hour overwhelmed and rooted to the spot like a stunned rabbit caught in head lights. I don't remember drinking the peppermint tea or eating the lemon cake I held in each clammy hand. I do remember intently gazing at many chest lines trying to decipher names and blog titles on conference badges. I remember uttering "Oh I know you" and "I really like your blog" an awful lot. I also remember a lively conversation about the merits of True Blood and Twilight. Vampires are useful ice breakers. Adrenaline though can have a very over powering and surreal effect on the senses. So much so that the entire two days often felt like a nostalgic throw back to my DJ'ing days. The excitement of meeting so many new people and absorbing the collective positive energy of the 500 bloggers present had more in common with a clubbing experience. I found myself riding an ecstatic high.

The stuff that stole my interest included call to action keynotes from Ruby Wax and Sarah Brown, serenely dozing babes in arms that invited broody yearnings, workshops on the Path to Getting Published and How to Create and Market Your Own eBooks which appealed to my writing aspirations, copious glasses of prosecco and canapes proferred during the BIBs Awards party, and the Bloggers Keynote ...

The Bloggers Keynote was a truly powerful, and empathic experience. It was a joy to listen to each chosen Blogger's selected post. Their spoken renditions breathed life and electricity into their written words. Hayley from Downs Side Up received a standing ovation for reading this moving post about her beautiful daughter, Natty, who has downs syndrome. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

And now its all over and I'm genuinely sad. I find myself in a melancholic haze. I think I'm having a post clubbing come down. For the first time my humble blog and I felt a part of something much bigger; a blogging community that is making a difference.

Life is about relationship, and it doesn't matter if this takes place on line. Because behind that computer screen resides a real person with history, worries, triumphs and losses, aspirations, hope, tragedy and illness, and love. And the energy of that human experience pulsates through the written word. And in that there is always connection ...

See you at Britmums 2013.

Brit Mums ... Colour and Spectacle

Cheery Cheerfulness and Tossed Salad Chic

At last the sun appeared less shy this week and brazenly brushed aside the clouds. Still I've never known a Summer this UV challenged. And today its raining again. So I've decided to ignore all things damp, drizzly and wet and instead focus upon this weeks nuggets of positivity. I'm linking up with Reasons To Be Cheerful hosted by the lovely Mummy From The Heart where you'll find other posts that sparkle and shine .....

My Blog. I don't know if you'd noticed but its had an eye catching overhaul. I'm very pleased with the finish. It's simple, welcoming, clean and a little quirky, which is the look I was after. I really like the broken cassette tape, scruffy converse trainers and the splash of muted teal. The inspiration for the header was mine but the wonderful Violet Posy applied all the technical wizardry. And didn't she do a fabulous job? I spent most of last week frantically emailing her my ideas and demands for the perfect looking site; "could you add one more piece of scrunched paper over the r? ", "can you rotate the tape a little more? ", "the font size isn't quite right" .... I don't know how she put up with my constant requests and obsession with the tiniest of details. It must be tricky for a web designer to accurately interpret a client's ideas. Violet Posy's idea of 'quirky' could have been a world away from mine. Incidentally, I put the L into Luddite. You won't catch a me tinkering with the html and css That's why I had to bring in a learned soul to assist me with injecting some visual magic into this blog.

Fathers Weekend. We celebrated all things Younger Dad during Saturday as we were going to be with friends on Sunday morning. Anyway Younger Dad received a book, 'My Daddy Cooks' from Little A while I gave him a gift of speciality coffees. I made a firm family favourite reserved for birthdays and special occasions; pancakes oozing with full fat butter, maple syrup and bacon. Dee-licious.

On Sunday we went on a reconnaissance of Hertfordshire towns in a bid to choose the location of our next home. Letchworth, Hitchin and Harpenden all looked rather habitable but probably out of our price range. What we happened upon in Letchworth though was, oddly, Britain's very first round-a-bout. It was situated in the middle of a sleepy junction that was surrounded by generous grass verges and post war styled detached homes. I'm not quite sure how this historically recent town can lay claim to having the oldest round-a-bout. There was however a wooden sign post in the middle of the traffic island pompously proclaiming its ascendancy over every other round-a-bout in the country. It must have existed long before this leafy middle class enclave did. Younger Dad was going to make a left turn but I ordered he drive an honorary lap around ye olde circle of grass. I wonder if the National Transport Museum houses a chunk of turf from this slice of Letchworth's traffic history?

Somewhere near Harpenden we visited a Sunday Open Farm. Little A delighted in the daddy sized tractor wheels, sheep shearing and new born chicks. Younger Dad took her on a tractor and trailer ride. I waited by the sidelines with two beefburgers smearing grease on my fingers, the napkins were useless, while they took the tour of the fields perched on farm yardy hay bales. Both lunch and I had gone cold by the time they'd returned after a surprisingly long twenty minutes. Little A's enthusiasm had waned. So had mine. It was time to hit the road.

Britmums. Its finally arrived. My first blogging conference. I know I'm going to feel completely overwhelmed. You kindly read my words but what on earth will you make of me in real life? That's the part I'm nervous about. Now I haven't gone overboard with The Outfit. The ensemble I'm wearing is both casual and comfortable.

So dear reader I present to you the look I'll be rocking this weekend.

I call it Tossed Salad Chic, a thrown together medley of high street reliables from Gap, Next and M&S .....

Tossed Salad Chic

Bitmums Live 2012 Ultimate Meme

Last Christmas I received a fabulous present from Younger Dad; a ticket to Brit Mums Live 2012. Although the ticket wasn't purchased until February it still ranks amongst one of the many favourite gifts I've received from him. You see this golden ticket buys me two days of freedom. Two days of being solely me. Younger Dad will look after Little A while I go and meet some of the wonderful mummy bloggers I've been reading over the past ten months. I am so excited to be attending the conference in June!

Anyway the Ultimate Brit Mums Live meme is the brain child of A Boy With Aspergers. The lovely A Party Of Seven and Older Single Mum both tagged me to answer some questions about the event.

The meme rules ask that you copy and paste the questions, answer them, then tag another two to four bloggers to do the same. Also don't forget to link your post back to A Boy With Aspergers linky.

Questions ...

Q: What’s your blog title/URL and how long have you been blogging?
Last Summer I started Older Mum as a supportive resource for mothers over 35. But then I muddied the waters by blogging about everything other than subject matter relating to older mums . So the beginning of this year I decided to start a separate personal blog, Older Mum (In a Muddle), a space  where I can ramble about anything and everything. I've been blogging for about ten months now.

Q: Will Brit Mums Live be your First blogging conference?
Yes, and that is why I am so excited!

Q: Did you bag yourself a sponsor?
No, just me on my lonesome.

Q: Are you attending both days?
But of course my dear! I'm not going to lose out on two toddler free days!

Q: What are you most looking forward to about the conference?
This is my first conference so I'm really looking forward to meeting parent bloggers in person for the very first time.

Q: Are you wearing Branded Clothing ( you’re sponsors brand)?
Er no ... does Marks and Spencers count?

Q: What is your planed style for this event?
Middle aged glamour!

Q: Are you hoping to be nominated for a BiB award?
A little late for that now ... the recognition is always nice but I don't think my blog is that well known.

Q: If so what category?
A nomination or two for writing would've been cool ... I think the category was LIT.

Q: Will you be looking to network with Brands?
Yes, as far a Older Mum is concerned since this is more of a commercial venture.

Q: What do u hope to walk away having gained from the conference?
Inspiration, confidence, ideas, connections and new friendships. But most of all some time to myself as a woman and person as opposed to the role of mother and servant.

Q: Will you be dressing up in the toilets for the Friday night BiBs?
Er, probably not, no. But you'll always find me in the kitchen at parties! Cue monotoned one hit eighties pop classic ...

Q: Are you speaking at the conference and if so when, where and how do you feel about doing so?
No.

Q: Will you be joining in the early morning bloggercise on the Saturday?
What with a hangover? I don't think I'll be joining in anyway as I'll be travelling from West London in the morning.

Q: What speakers are you most looking forward to listening to?
Lordy! There are so many great speakers. Highlights though have to be Ruby Wax, Jane Blackmore (Northern Mum) and Katie Davis-Holmes (Kate On Thin Ice).

Q: What workshops will you be attending on the Friday (Day 1)
There are some really good workshops and I'm totally torn .... a toss up between 'Getting Yourself Published' or 'Crossing the Chasm - bringing your blog up to the next level'.

Q: What Workshops being held on the Saturday (Day 2) have grabbed your attention?
So far four have piqued my interest; 'Beginner Blogging Essentials', 'How to Create an Ebook', 'Perks and Pounds', and 'Writing About Your Life'.

Q: Are you booked into a hotel for the Friday night, if yes which one?
No. I will be returning to my humble abode in West London.

Q: Will you be looking for after party drinks?
Now let me see?

Q: Are you worried about not knowing anyone or being confident and socialising on the day?
Yes, very apprehensive indeed. I'm worried that so many mummy bloggers already know each other and that I'll feel like a spare part. I know a few bloggers who are attending *wink* and will be meeting them for the first time. I'm a very friendly warm soul. I don't bite - promise! Come over and talk to little ole' me!

Q: What are you most likely to be found doing while attending Britmums Live?
Talking gibberish and listening hard, studiously taking notes, connecting, smiling, feeling overwhelmed, feeling over excited, matching face to blog, networking, being brave, finding my feet, believing in myself as a writer, and hopefully making some genuine long lasting friendships.

All the bloggers I know who are going to Brit Mums Live have already completed this meme apart from one, I think, so stand up and be counted Lynsey The Mother Duck. You're IT.

See you all at Brit Mums Live ...