Half term and Halloween

The half term holiday is nearly over and, for a change, I've actually done things other than read and drink too much coffee. 

The Daughter plus Boyfriend drove up from Cornwall on Tuesday and are staying with my parents until Sunday. I feel very guilty that they can't stay with us, but The Daughter's cat allergy won't allow it. I have broached the subject of re-homing the cats, but The Daughter pointed out that she's only up this way a couple of times a year, so sacrificing the cats would not be fair on Sons One and Two. Life with my parents is probably more interesting anyway, as they live in a nearby town rather than being out here in the sticks. So yesterday was spent catching up with The Daughter's life - she's just got a new job to help her get through college. She'll be working on mental health wards in Cornwall as a sort of supply-mental-health-person. There must be an official name for it, but she's basically getting loads of experience towards the job she eventually wants to do, which can only be a plus for getting into university. I am, once again, a very proud mother.

Son Number Two and I have been climbing and spent some time trying the bouldering cave. It's like climbing, only sideways. It's a bit like the games everyone plays when they're a child: the 'Let's-get-round-the-room-without-touching-the-ground' thing. Only I did touch the ground several times. Thank goodness for crash-mats and painkillers...

I sent in my first assignment of the new course, and got it back within 48 hours - a record return from an OU tutor. I scored 70, which is not great, but you've got to start somewhere. As I waffled and argued myself round in circles, it's not too bad I suppose.  

Guess what? I did housework, too. Yes, I know it's a shock, but it's that time of year again, so I thought I should make the effort. I think, of all the festivals, I like Samhain the most. It's a shame to see the back of the Summer already, but I do prefer Autumn. It's nice to be able to draw the curtains, shut the world out, and enjoy being together in the evenings. And Autumn television is so much better than the rest of the year, even if it is still slightly rubbishy. (The Paradise did get me reading Zola though, and I'm ashamed that it's taken me so long to read his books.) This evening, no doubt, we will have dozens of local children at the door begging for treats. I just hope my own children haven't eaten them all. I bought sweets early, which was a mistake, as both sons have been eyeing the bags and I caught Son Number One picking out his favourites. He's suggested that we turn the lights out and pretend we're not in, so he can have all the sweets himself. Just to remind you, he'll be twenty next year...

Thankfully, we've not had an anti-Halloween assembly this year. A few years ago, we had a vicar who gave an assembly on how Halloween was a festival during which evil Pagans tried to talk to the dead. I happened to like that particular vicar very much, but his assembly made me boiling mad. At the time, Son Number Two was at our school, and the uneducated comment upset him greatly. I also had to fend off stupid questions from The Son's close friends, who knew my religious beliefs. For those who want to know, it's a festival to celebrate the end of the Summer (hence the housework - you're meant to clear out all the rubbish of the year). Yes, it's associated with death, in that the weather's getting colder and plants are slowing their growth or dying off. Years ago, it was a celebration of the harvest being safely gathered (hence apple-bobbing games and pumpkin and turnip carving), and some animals were slaughtered for food because they couldn't be kept through the Winter. Today, it's used as a time to think about those who have died (not talk to them, for goodness sake...), so we might light candles for remembrance. 

As far as 'Trick or Treating' goes, it's a commercial thing, and not one that I particularly enjoy. My children have never really got involved in it, as I think it's cheeky to hammer on doors asking for sweets, though American friends have told me it's a great family and party time for them. I suppose it's done very halfheartedly here - it's not done with a spirit of fun. Quite often, the four year olds who bang on the door are wearing masks from horrific and disturbing films (which I can only hope they haven't seen) along with their normal clothes. American friends have sent me photos of really inventive, non-scary costumes, often home-made, and the whole thing seems to be far more pleasant than the nightmare we've turned it into. We don't do it as a fancy dress parade. We do it as a big mess. 

Computer shopping and other nightmares

The Husband actually took a day off work today, so we went into town and spent far more money than we'd planned. Son Number Two starts music college in September. Apart from his school uniform, he's a board-shorts and t-shirt person from February to November (jeans with holes in the knees for really cold weather), so desperately needed decent clothes. Although there were sales on, it was the best part of £80 for a bagful of stuff that didn't even include trousers. (We'll have another shopping trip for those, I'm not that much of a bad mother...) 

Then we had the 'I need advice on this' shopping to do. I needed wanted a chalk bag for climbing, so went to the outdoor pursuits place, where I was an awkward newbie asking obvious questions. I was never made to feel stupid, even though I nearly put a harness on backwards and couldn't remember the names of things. After paying for said harness and loads of other stuff (sorry, Dear Husband), I was told where all the best climbing walls in the area were by the two rather nice salesmen, and then made a classy exit by walking into a pillar. They didn't laugh, bless them (well, not till I was out of earshot, anyway). I will definitely shop there again. When the bruises have faded. 

Then we went lap-top shopping, again for Son Number Two. After wandering around and being dragged away from digital cameras by The Husband who was worrying about his credit card bill, we were approached by a twelve year old in a PC World shirt, who asked if we needed any help. 

'We're after a lap-top,' we explained. The twelve year old smirked and asked, 'What spec?' in a way that made it obvious he thought he was talking to idiots. Son Number Two had done his homework and reeled off a list of acronyms, which stopped the sales guy lazily chewing on his pen and made him pay attention. It took fifteen minutes to choose a lap-top, but twenty to persuade the guy that we really, really, didn't want to take out insurance. The Husband did his best glazed expression after having said, several times, that he wasn't buying it. We finally escaped from the hell that was computer sales and had to recover with coffee and large slices of cake in Costa. 

Unusually, it seems, for a female, I don't like shopping. I'm fine going into a shop and buying something I know I want, but I'm not one for spending all day wandering around and looking. Unless it's in a bookshop, and even then I know that I'll end up actually buying something. I don't browse if I don't have the money to buy something. Again, unless it's in a bookshop, and then I'll mentally remove things from the weekly food-shop to compensate for a must-buy. 'Milk?? Pfft, we don't need that! Bread?? I'm sure there's a loaf in the bottom of the freezer somewhere...' 

Taking a deep breath

If going climbing (all the two times I've done it) has taught me anything apart from the need to keep my nails short, it's that there are so many things in the past that I've turned down because the idea scared me, or took me out of my comfort zone, that I'm actually wondering how many good things I've missed. How many things have I said no to because it 'wasn't my sort of thing', or made me nervous? 

I've seen the film Yes, Man, and okay, it was kind of daft, but it has a point. I love the title of the book Feel the Fear And Do It Anyway, although I've not actually read it, I'm ashamed to say, and that's something I must remedy over the Summer holidays. (Yes, tomorrow is the last day of term. Excuse me while I just run around celebrating...) Lately, I have tried to attempt things rather than just feebly say, 'Well, I'm not sure...'. 

I took on the running of the school library although I seriously thought I was not worthy. And despite the equivalent of a month spent sitting at the computer, cataloguing books, I'm glad I took it on. I've had children asking for book recommendations, I've shared a great series of books with The Bookworm in year 5 (The Spiderwick Chronicles, in case you're interested, complete with field-guide). I've even been lent books by said Bookworm, and am thoroughly enjoying being immersed in reading material and having book-centred chats with the children. The Boss Lady seems to think I'm doing okay, so I should stop worrying. I'm doing this for the children, so bugger the rest of them who are moaning about messed-up time-tables for library visits. Getting children reading is important to me. Mainly so I can borrow their books. 

I said yes to climbing, and I've raved about it so much that Son Number Two wants to give it a go. But the thing I'm most pleased about diving into was Open University. It was three years ago now, and I was only going to do one interesting-looking course on psychology, but now I'm just two courses away from my degree. Every time I sign up for the next course, I'm scared that I'm going to make a fool of myself, but it always seems to go okay. I'll find out how Children's Literature and Creative Writing went in a couple of weeks, but so far I'm on target for a 2:1, which would make me pretty happy. 

I've not always succeeded in my 'give it a go' outlook. Sorry, Ms Fab, your birthday spa-day looked great, but I couldn't do it. Give me a slap next year and force me to go. So, what will I do? I will do Na-No-Wri-Mo this year. Fifty-thousand words in a month. I can do that. It'll be a great way to avoid doing linguistics assignments. The blog may be rather sparse in November, though. What else? I will make phone calls. The Husband is a wonderful phone-caller, but I rely on him too much. He'll come in tired from work, and I'll have a list of calls I need him to make. As a recovering stammerer, phones are my nemesis but, bloody hell, I'm nearly 44, I should be making my own phone calls. 

Funnily enough, whilst writing this, I was checking through my blogroll (on the right, my list of the best blogs I've found) and Lessons in French has a post on the same subject. Read it here, it's much better than mine. Not sure if I could bring myself to bungee jump off a bridge, though. 

Must try harder

Ms Fab and I returned to the climbing walls this morning. We thought we better go back as soon as possible, before we forgot how to tie the right knots. Mrs GSOH's husband was ill, so she couldn't come with us this time. Well, that's what she said, anyway. I'm wondering if she just wanted to see if we came back undamaged before committing herself to more climbing with us. Despite us both admitting we couldn't quite remember the order of things when someone wanted to start an abseil, Ms Fab and I pretended we knew what we were doing and had a go anyway. This was partly because we realised there was a camera on the ceiling, which connected to the tv on the reception desk. I had a picture in my head of a crowd of sports instructors gathered around it, shaking their heads and laughing. They would then all nudge each other and point at us as we left the building. I don't think that happened. 

Yeah, we might go outside one day.

If there's a pub nearby...

Actually, the worst bit was as we were paying to go in. We had to pick up our new 'You're-allowed-to-use-the-climbing-wall' cards, and were told we had to have our photos printed on them for security reasons. 'But it's Sunday morning!' Ms Fab protested. Nevertheless, it had to be done. So we now own cards with scary-looking Sunday-morning faces on them. And, no, I'm not going to show you. 

After tying knots that looked relatively similar to the ones we'd been shown, we climbed up and down several routes, then looked around for what to do next. 'Let's try that one,' I can't remember who said it, but they need shooting. It had weird leaning bits and angles. Ms Fab did an amazing Spiderman job on the way up, but came down quicker than she was expecting. Then it was my turn and I got stuck halfway. Ms Fab tried to show me how to do it, but she'd forgotten. I bet the people around that tv were loving it. She did manage to climb it again, but by then my hands were seizing up. We've decided we'll do that route first next time, before we're too worn out. 

Yes, we have every intention of going back, if only to make Mrs GSOH climb the tricky wall. We need to start getting kitted out, though. We found out that slippy hands and climbing do not go together. Slippy hands and crashing to the floor go together, so we're going to get some chalk rather than just stealing bits that other climbers have left behind. We were lucky that we were on our own this morning. I'm sure there will come a time when we're in the presence of burly climbing men, in which case we need to give the impression we know what we're doing. Either that, or we'll just stand there and watch them. I knew there was a good reason for starting all this rubbish. 

Driving me up the wall

On a past post, 'Fab Friday', I mentioned how Ms Fab, Mrs GSOH and I were going indoor climbing. Well, we've done it. We listened and learned, and our instructor didn't end up a sobbing heap on the floor. We've climbed up, abseiled down, helped each other to abseil down without letting them plummet to the ground, and went and celebrated with an argument about who was paying for drinks in the bar afterwards. Good times. Ms Fab is going to put some photos on facebook later, as some people didn't actually believe we were going through with it. 'Is it another sky-diving thing?' we've both been asked. Yes, we both want to do a charity sky dive, for Alzheimer's research, and it's been talked about a lot, but that's as far as we've got. WE WILL DO IT. We decided yesterday. Nag me, please. If I'm still going on about it in a year's time, nag me. Make me feel guilty. 

Not me. But you get the idea. Add a bit of 

swearing and an instructor in hysterics and 

you've got it. 

As those photos of yesterday's climb go on facebook, I may stick one on here. Probably not of me, though. Most of the photos show backsides in harnesses. It's not pretty. I may post a photo of Ms Fab's backside as it's far slimmer than mine. I do now have an incentive to stay slim. Or to become slim, even. When belaying (I know the proper word now, as opposed to 'letting someone slide down the wall'...) we discovered we could cope with each other's weight okay. 'Can we still do this for people who are... bigger than us?' Mrs GSOH asked the instructor. 'Yes,' he said, 'but you may need sand-bags to help you hold their weight.' At the bar afterwards, we decided we would never become sand-bag people. Just one extra cake in the staff room could result in the embarrassment of a sand-bag being added to the belay rope, so someone could cope with the added weight. When Ms Fab unwraps another toffee, I shall whisper, 'sand-bag,' to her, and watch her put it back. Either that or she'll deck me. 

On another note, I have a thank you to make. My fellow blogger, at Lessons in French has nominated me for a blogging award. Many thanks, my friend. I'm glad you're enjoying the blog, and comments like yours make the whole thing worthwhile. Pop over and check her blog out. Her writing is great and makes me think (and it takes a lot to make me do that these days). I've never had a blogging award before, and I'll do the acceptance bits in my next post, once I've had a ponder. Thanks again - it's much appreciated.