I started writing Mummy
on the Edge in 2006 when Mini-Me was 4. Over the past 7 years, I have
borrowed (some might say, stolen) quite a selection of intimate
vignettes from our upside down life to share within these pages. Some
high points, some low points; some proud moments and very many
embarrassing ones. When I wrote my first column, it was an experiment
and I was not sure how it would be received. I was thankful when the
then editor asked me to make it a regular thing. At that time,
Mini-Me had just started learning to read. Admiring pictures of
herself: that she could manage. However she had not yet discovered
the thrill of deciphering the mad ramblings of her mother within the
pages of a publicly available periodical. So, without an interested
party to elicit guilt and thereby block my creative flow, everything
was fair game. Never once did I consider that this would return to
bite me in the bottom.
Fast forward 7 years
and Mini-Me (whom I should actually call Midi-Me, she's nearly
eleven!) is finding her own literary voice. And using it to plonk
bits of our lives into her own stories. Nothing that bad has surfaced
yet. Last week it was a story about a kid who had vomited on his
mother's bed and been treated with love and care by his mother,
instead of expected reprimand. So far, so complimentary. However I
fear it's only a matter of time before I read something like: “Jimmy
set up another game of chess to play with himself while his mother,
wrapped in two layers of moth-eaten cashmere, wearing odd socks and
surrounded by empty Ferrero Rocher wrappers sat motionless in front
of another episode of Real Housewives of New York.”
***
This school
year is Mini-Me's last at primary school. It's only a matter of time
before I am reduced in her estimation from “Cool Mum - who runs her
own business and writes for Families Magazine” to “Great
Embarrassment - will you please stop writing about me, Mother”. So
I figure I may as well go for broke here: The aforementioned puking
incident occurred a couple of Saturdays ago while Northwest London
was in the grip of a virulent puke-diarrhoea lurgy which had
afflicted lots of people from school and caused several absences from
my Sing and Sign classes. I was in abject fear of catching the lurgy
for several reasons: 1) that my mum had had an operation and was in
hospital with her defences particularly low; 2) that I would have to
take time off from work which is difficult because I have no one that
can teach my classes for me; 3) who would deal with Mini-me? 4) I
just didn't want to catch the bug, okay?
I dropped
Mini-Me off directly after her Saturday morning activity to the
school fair, where her year were supposed to be running the games
room. She was taking this responsibility quite seriously and had been
going on about “My shift” for days. “I can't be late for my
shift, Mum” and, “I'll be singing in the choir after my shift”.
She was clearly quite anxious to be at her station at her allocated
time so as not to let anyone down. Having taught my classes that
morning, I was equally anxious to go home, put my feet up and eat
lunch undisturbed in front of a recorded episode of Real Housewives
of New York, Season 5, so I gave her some money and told her to buy
herself something innocuous to eat, meaning chips or a sandwich or
something, NOT as she chose, chicken curry and rice. I would be back
by 2 to watch her in the choir and spend a silly amount of money on
fruitless raffle tickets.
We came home
in anticipation of a busy evening. Mini-Me had a sleepover to go to
and I therefore, had arranged to go out for dinner with an old
friend. And then it happened. All over my bed and duvet and suedette
headboard and her fringe and eyebrows and self, generally. Terrified
that it was The Lurgy, we battened down the hatches and I prepared
for a further puke-storm. It turned out though, that it wasn't The
Lurgy after all because she was totally fine after that. In any case,
to her annoyance, I fed her very little rest of the weekend JUST IN
CASE. I concluded that there must have been a secret ingredient in
the school fair chicken curry that just hadn't agreed with her. Oh
well, at least it provided inspiration for one of her scintillating
and gripping compositions.
And that's
what counts, right?
For more Life on the
Edge with Angelina, visit mynotesfromtheedge.blogspot.com. Angelina
runs Sing and Sign award-winning baby signing classes in Harrow,
Bushey and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com.
