I think we might need to section Mummy

For some time now, perhaps 400 days or so (give or take) the twins have been bawling their little eyes out and clinging to me as one would to the last dry mast on a sinking ship. That is until 10 days ago (exactly). I took them to a friend's house a week last Sunday afternoon so we could chin wag and drink cold Coronas. Imagine my staggered, mildly suspicious surprise to see them totter from the car to her front door and play with the toys, giggle at the older children and generally enjoy themselves in a way that makes parents pleased to be parents of such well behaved children. My chum noticed the lack of histrionics too. I barely dared to breathe of the change to anyone else in case I cursed it. Two other friends have remarked upon the uncharacteristic calmness of the girls this week too.

I'd like to say their turn in behaviour was down to the suggestion my sister in law made some time ago when I was looking for an au pair. She wondered if they wouldn't benefit more from daycare rather than reinforcing the clingy behaviour by bringing another mother figure in. The lightbulb popped in my head at the obvious genius of her suggestion and I bustled them off to our local preschool. The first few weeks at dropping off and picking up time the girls managed to give the soundtrack to 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' a run for it's money but of late they toddle in and out quite happily, used to their new routine.

More likely the reason is this. The twins have watched in beady fascination as they pushed me to the raw, ragged limits of patience and just as I tipped, spinning eyed and gnashing over the edge of the abyss they decided they were bored of that game and started to behave like gorgeous little angels.

As far as developments go, this one's a whopper. To celebrate, the husband and I are going bowling this evening.

Are you sure?

Last night we went out for dinner with some friends. I overheard the husband saying "in a couple of years, we may have another baby. It's possible." Instead of spitting my wine out in blusterous, indignant rebuttal I tilted my head to the side and smiled in consideration.

What is wrong with us? I can't believe we would even consider it knowing how hard it has been and still is. We are clawing our way to the surface slowly and yet would consider submerging ourselves further with another baby.

In other, more exciting news you can buy clothes and shoes from Matalan on line www.matalan.co.uk

Dusting off the cobwebs between my ears

Last week was extremely busy. I started to feel slightly panicked at what I have taken on. For some time now I have been desparate to do some work. The challenge was to find something both enjoyable and which fit around my little family. Freelance writing looked like the most likely candidate to fit the bill. A friend suggested I start writing a blog to practice writing. It has been no hardship writing this little diary. It's rather addictive actually. A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to meet the editor of Simply You magazine who very kindly gave me the most fantastic opportunity. In September I will have two pieces published in this New Zealand fashion bible. I'm so excited! My clever brother has built me a website so now I can officially say "I'm a writer."
Last week I had a taster of what I hope will happen more often - I had deadlines to meet. The almost obsolete cogs of my brain clunked into action and managed to pull two more articles from its murky depths for Look Magazine. Such intense mental activity after a 4 year break necessitated a boozy, cackle filled lunch. So that's what I did from Saturday lunchtime until 11pm that night.

Across a crowded room....

Homesickness does not seem to be abating even after nearly 3 years. Instead of writing about all the things I miss about home I'll write about something I love about New Zealand.

Deep in the remote depths of the South Island lies the town of Queenstown. It sits at the edge of Lake Wakatipu and is guarded by the craggy Remarkables. Its personality and character are vast for such a small place. It's known worldwide for being the centre of the adrenaline universe and if you've been there, chances are you'll have lobbed yourself off the edge of something. The beauty of the place is beyond words. In my own tiny universe it is particularly special for this was the place I first set eyes on the husband. It was an auspicious start. I stood at the edge of the dancefloor in The World Bar and watched him arms aloft, eyes closed, punching out the beat as he tottered to the bar and order two Coronas only to discover he had lost his wallet.

Aah, sweet mystery of life

Last week I went to see a medium. Nearly 10 years ago I was riding pillion on my friend's motorbike. We had a head on collision with another motorbike and both my friend and the other young driver died. Ever since then I have wanted to talk to Wiz. It was as if our conversation stopped midway and I was left, slack jawed, waiting for someone to press play so we could continue. For months after he died I would get a taxi to the graveyard in his pretty little village, sit by his grave in the cold, grey air and chatter to him. At first it was just a mound of freshly dug earth. After a while his gravestone was added (Richard Wilson, Wiz, truly a star). Flowers came and went, new graves were dug, the earth settled, the weather grew warmer and I continued to visit. I loved it. In the loneliness which followed the accident, I felt comfortable and less hollow sitting on the gravel and wet grass by his body. Sometimes I just sat and listened to Harry Potter stories on my walkman (the big bang to my nut had affected my ability to read - the words wouldn't sit still on the page for a good year). When the cold had seeped into my bones and made me stiff I would amble over to the pub adjoining the graveyard and drink a hot chocolate in the corner, studiously ignoring the interested stares from locals who were all in sad shock at losing Wiz.

The medium said "There's a young man here who'd like to talk to you". She asked me if there was anything I'd like to ask him. For 10 years I've been having a one way conversation with Wiz. I have whiled away a great many hours fantasising about talking to him, playing out scenes in my mind where were would talk about what had happened and the affect it has had on our families. I looked at the floor and could feel an enormous surge of energy billowing through my organs and blood. It felt like some of Wiz's soul was inside my body. I couldn't articulate even one word in response.