Skeleton Information

I've been interviewed! I feel so honoured, I'm significantly beaming with pride! The interview hasn't been published yet but when it is I shall leave a link on this blog and ask for your support, I think it will be in the next week or so. I feel a little bit famous. Just a little bit. In the meantime, I have been tagged by a few lovely bloggers recently and have promised to reveal some information about myself. I can't for the life of me remember who these bloggers are so I apologise profusely for being a nerd, but here are seven very brief skeletons which have (dis)graced my cupboards:

1. I would much rather have steak, chips and onion rings than some fancy restaurant grub that one needs a magnifying glass to make out what it is. To me, Michelin is a tyre. Stars are in the sky.

2. I hate removing my wedding ring. I have a small patch of suspected eczema on my finger and have to keep taking the ring off in order to put cream on it. I cringe every time I do it. My wedding ring is a sacred symbol of my love for the Farmer and without it, I feel as though I am betraying him.

3. I introduced my daughter to the word "arse". This is something I am not proud of. We love a sit-com called The Royle Family based on a family of telly addicts who spend their time farting, cracking jokes and talking toilets. Dad Jim Royle's famous line is, "..... my arse!" Believe me, it does sound funny.

4. I taught a lovely little boy to swim, giving him confidence in the water and preparing him for his first swimming badge. This is something I am proud of. It was this experience that inspired me to write my self-published children's book called "Freddy the Brave" (available via Lulu) - see link in my side bar. Okay, I'll shut up now.

5. I absolutely adore Martin Shaw. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you will already know this useless piece of information. I think he is sex on legs. And if I ever get my book made into a television production (she says whilst looking longingly towards the sky, hands clasped together, eyes tightly closed), I would like Martin to play the part of Reverend Marcus Calloway.

6. I like being me. It's taken a while, but I'm actually happy in my own skin.

7. Over the years I have become more aware of people who take me for a ride. If ever there is an issue with my daughter, I make sure the gloves are off. I am sometimes quite defensive, perhaps a little unreasonable, but always willing to learn. If it's something concerning my farm business, the gloves are off full stop. There's no second chances for companies that try to rip us off and I have become a firm negotiator. My husband is quite soft and finds it hard to say "no", so I've had to step in and be tough.

Edit: I want to direct you to my other blog, Marvellous Mable, where I have just published a fascinating experience I had with a medium, Lorraine Holloway-White.

Shaggy Dog and the Terrible Itch

Three months ago I took the plunge and had my grey locks turned into brown ones with sandy-coloured highlights. I have the finest, most fly-away hair imaginable and it's been a problem all my life. Because it's so straight and lanky I had perm after perm. I've had it short, long, medium lengths, curly, straight, black, red, brown. After finding a new hairdresser in October last year I asked for something different; something that would bring my hair back to life and make me look.... errr.... younger. The new me emerged from the salon with a spring in my step, eager to get home and start showing off my incredible new look. The Farmer didn't say much, he never does, his romantic gestures extend to a cup of decaffeinated coffee at 9pm, but my sister was impressed and Amy said she liked it, too. I noticed my head was a little itchy for a short while after but nothing I needed to be concerned about.

Fast forward six weeks and I found myself back in the chair, staring at myself in the mirror, waiting for the stylist to run her dainty, ring clad, highly polished finger nails through my hair before helping me decide upon the same colour with more pronounced highlights. That was the beginning of December, a few days before my birthday. Ever since then, I've had the itchiest head since Nitty Nora the Bug Explorer arrived at my primary school and insisted the "nits found in school" letter was distributed forthwith. I've checked mine and Amy's heads regularly but never found any bugs or eggs. But throughout January, the itching has got gradually worse. The natural reaction to scratch has been overwhelming which has obviously aggravated the situation. So, this week I got myself checked out, first by a Chemist who half-concluded it could be contact dermatitis (a form of eczema) and insisted I needed to go straight to the doctors to get it treated. I asked my mum if anyone else had it, I felt a bit lonely at the time, but she confirmed that I did have infantile eczema when I was little. Off to the doctors I went, the one place I now avoid like the plague. After spending half my life talking to doctors and consultants last year, I'm put off the medical profession for ever. It just so happens my doctor is one lovely guy and apart from being a dishy doc, seemed to know straight away that I haven't got dermatitis and definitely haven't got nits. But it wasn't difficult for either of us to finally come to the conclusion that I have had an allergic reaction to the hair dye, perhaps even the highlights.

So, what do I do now? Wait until my hair goes grey again and end up looking like someone twenty years older (sorry, Farmer), or do I carry on getting my hair coloured and carry on looking incredibly glamorous, deletable and just a little bix sexy? Bit of a dilemma. But the way I feel right now, I'm kind of going for the grey option.

p.s. there's a new post on Amy's blog, it's a funny poem she wrote and she would be over the moon to have your support.

Tranquil

Sheep cry in eagerness for food whilst the dogs meander, searching for a ball amongst aconites and thistles. The spotted wagtail performs his debut as he perches, balancing on an ancient wooden bird-house. Buzzards hover above ground, eagerly awaiting the next hare caught in a collie's mouth. My eyes travel for miles as I search around me, admiring the beautiful rugged landscape in which I am so fortunate to live. I remember the harshness of winter as the snow fell upon God's earth, and the gales which lifted tiles from the hen-house roof. I remember the lambing; our smiles as ewe after ewe bore healthy stock, the fine nights spent in the sheds. We wished for rain after the lambing to help our arable fields bear their crop and again we smiled when rain finally washed the dust away, watering the rape and barley, and feeding the wheat.

Deer roam the fields, they stand to attention when the roar of the quad bike approaches. They no longer fear four wheels and a human, nor do they startle at the sight of a determined sheep dog. They share our land as we share theirs. Seeing their beauty captivates each heart which beats in rhythm to their majestic dance. The vixen hides in the gorse, her ears reaching attentive poise as she thinks about dinner and the hens, which reside near the farm house; how tasty a meal they would make for her young. The creatures of the countryside have one motto: survival of the fittest. Even the field mice drown in blades of grass, camouflaged in fear of cats whiskers. The countryside is peaceful; its energy surrounding us in calming beauty.

p.s. New post published on Marvellous Mable, my paranormal blog. Your support is greatly appreciated.

Dogs Bring Me Sunshine

We've had some splendid sunshine recently; dry ground with a little left over frost where the sun hasn't quite managed to reach. I took the dogs for a walk down the farm road, something they always enjoy. Camera at the ready, I took a few photographs of the four of them. The first one was particularly difficult to capture after I realised my attempts at ordering them to "sit" and "stay" were going in one ear and out the other. But here's a few images which portray my beauties, perhaps not to the full, but certainly to me.

Working sheep dogs. When they feel like it! (reluctantly sitting still)

My Meggie

I shouted them back to me. And they actually came running! Might try that one on the Farmer....

Meggie found a large stone and impersonated David Beckham. If only she had his money...!

Gorgeous sunny day and a great view over the fields.

Farm road, dry and frosty. It was quite slippery in parts, too.

 

Thought I'd put this one in. The Farmer took it. Pecking his nuts in the feeder.

p.s. I have published a new post on my paranormal blog, Marvellous Mable. The very talented Cally Taylor (who wrote Heaven Can Wait) kindly sent me a few of her own experiences. So pop over and have a read.

My Bunnykins Baby

Amy's always been a sensitive child, the slightest thing causes emotions that are often overwhelming. But last night she made me realise just how sensitive, nostalgic and emotional she really is. She had a headache which I managed to cure with Calpol and a few bad jokes, not to mention watching iCarly in my bed. I insisted that she went to bed at 9pm, half an hour earlier than her usual school-night bedtime. I could tell she was ready, she didn't debate it, so I took her to bed and offered to read her a story like I used to do every night up until she was about eight years old. Anyway, the story we chose was taken from a compilation of cute tales about the Bunnykins Family. When I brought the book out she burst into tears. My natural reaction was of course to hold her close, stroke her hair and assure her everything was alright. Amongst the huge shoulder-jerking sobs she said, "I'm so happy, mum. This book brings back such wonderful memories."

I continued to hold her while she clung to me. They were tears I had no chance of stopping. She was so emotionally charged that I thought it best to let them flow, let her get the moment of precious nostalgia out of her system. Eventually, I was able to read the story, a short and beautifully illustrated tale of 6 bunnies going to the seaside. I felt as though I had been taken back to the days of CBeebies, 64 Zoo Lane and Story Makers. It was the best fifteen minutes I have spent for a long time. She stopped crying eventually and I kissed her goodnight. I often wonder if my love for that child can get any stronger but after nights like that one, I realise it does, every single day.

A Huge Step For Me

I amazed myself this week. I had to sit down and reflect on the monumental decision I finally made. I think I must have become more confident recently because I got on the Internet and booked a ticket for the CyberMummy 2011 conference which will be held in London in June. I also booked myself in at a hotel near the venue, for two nights. Just me. I'll be travelling on the train and will have the opportunity to mingle with the many friends I have made during the past few years of blogging. I'm still in shock that I made this move, a huge step for me. The travelling alone is nerve wracking, but the actual meeting people part terrifies me. Sitting behind a computer screen and chatting on Twitter, commenting on blogs and faffing about on Facebook is a far cry from being face to face with someone in a strange place. I've met a few bloggers over the years but it's always been either at my home, or at theirs.

I've made arrangements for Amy and broke the news to the Farmer, who said, "oh, right," very interested I must say. For some, this conference is a great way to get together and have lots of fun. For me, it's a huge step on my road to gaining back the confidence that epilepsy took from me. I have five months to build up my nerves and remember that I'm just me, can't be any more and won't be any less. But I'm looking forward to it. Even if I have bitten my nails till they hurt.

Debate: Prenuptial Agreements

One of my favourite programs at the weekends is The Big Questions on a Sunday morning; it's a topical debate with an invited audience and, sometimes pointlessly, three panel members who have a very opinionated opinion. Some weeks the questions are quite dull, but the recent show focused on three rather interesting subjects, one of which was prenuptial agreements. I can't make my mind up whether or not I agree to them; being happily married I would like to think not having a prenup was the right thing to do, apart from the fact we are farmers and wouldn't have much to offer in one of these contracts. But the other part nods when I hear of the rich and famous entering into these matters, for fear of losing everything they've worked for. Including the ridiculously large salaries they very often don't deserve (she says, with tongue in cheek, thinking about footballers, b(w)ankers, politicians).

I think it undermines the whole concept of marriage; does one really think about divorce when they are planning their wedding? Do they say to each other, "darling, if we find someone else to shag, you can keep the car and I'll take the family pet"? Surely, when marriage is on the cards, romance and honeymoons are at the forefront of ones mind, not who gets what in the event of a divorce. If that were the case, what would be the point of marrying at all? But what if you have loads-a-money and you would much rather keep it to yourself. Does that make you selfish, or simply sensible? And what about widow/ers who's late husbands/wives have left them a considerable amount of money; surely their priority would be to hang on to it. Or would it be selfish not to share that inheritance with the next person, perhaps leaving your children out of pocket in the will, after the unfortunate event of a divorce? Difficult choices. But for me, I left with very little in terms of material objects when I divorced my first husband. He got the house, the car, the furniture. We just split up, no one else involved, just realised one day that we weren't meant to be. We got over it and moved on. I still care about him and always will. But even if the Farmer (or I) had got a substantial bank account, I'm not sure a prenup would have been the right way about entering into a marriage.

What do you think?

Disgusting and Vile: Preying on the Gullible

Unknowingly, I managed to subscribe to a website which offered me a service geared up to help me live my life. I say unknowingly, because I didn't realise I had actually subscribed and I honestly don't remember doing. So many websites only need you to click onto their site and you are automatically included in their overwhelming distribution of emails containing information that means absolutely nothing to you as an individual. For a few weeks now, I've been receiving emails from someone known as Tara. Because of my beliefs in the paranormal, I let it go that these emails were landing not only in my "junk" folder, but one or two appeared in my "inbox". I ignored them, having better things to do than read about how a total stranger can change my life for the better. But this week, after receiving several emails in the same day, I decided to have a quick read and made the error of clicking on to their website.

One of the emails started off saying, "You are at a crossroads, Kathryn!" So, I thought, they know my name. Perhaps I did subscribe after all and hadn't realised. It went on, "Do you want to continue your dismal life that you have been leading, with your money problems, difficult relationships with people and much disappointment?" My next thought was, how dare they. Who do they think they are to tell me I lead a dismal life, have money problems, difficult relationships and experience disappointment. They don't know me. "All you have to do to achieve great happiness is click here." I nodded my head. The word, con, came to mind. But another email told me I'd got a "serious problem" and announced that "Tara" had done something for me and in order to find out what it was I needed to "click here".

So I did. I would never normally click on an icon unless I knew what I was clicking on, but this angered me so much that I decided to give it a go, see what Tara was hoping to do to improve my incredibly dismal, disappointing, Billy-no-mates lifestyle that she obviously wanted me to believe I had.  The click led me to her website. She gave me an extremely long message consisting of utter bullshit about how amazing she was and how much I needed her help; that if I didn't agree to her helping me then I would be doomed forever and bad things were sure to happen to me. My family would suffer, as would my lifestyle. And at the bottom of all this complete crap was an option on how I should pay for her services, credit card, debit card, whichever. But unless I paid I would surely feel the wrath of bad fortune for the rest of my life.

As some of you know, my beliefs in the paranormal and spirit world are very strong, my current book is about a medium and I have done endless research over the past three years. I have good friends who are mediums and know a lot of people who claim to be psychic. But emails like this make a mockery of the good work my medium friends do. I am outraged that people like Tara, whoever the hell she is, finds it an easy task to send innocent people such rubbish and expects them to be gullible enough to pay to be told that they will live happily ever after. Where this website slipped up is by telling me that I am in desperate need of help. I suggest they look in the mirror and realise it is they who need help. In bucket fulls.

Worried Parents

It's hard work being a parent but I've always said it's incredibly rewarding, too. It seems a long time since I was childless and those days feel like another lifetime ago. I so often think I'm turning into my mum with some of the things I say to Amy and she's always reminding me how old I am. I guess to an eleven year old, a person who's 41 is pretty ancient. We parents do worry don't we. "Are you warm enough?" "Have you had enough to eat?" "Did you clean your teeth?" "Don't run downstairs, you might fall." And so it goes on, always something to worry about. And let's face it, we worry if we don't have anything to worry about. It's just all part of being a parent.

Over the years you realise that even when your children tell you not to worry, that really they don't mean it. What they mean however, is "it's okay to worry about me, just don't let on that you're doing it." Of the times when I've shown less concern towards Amy, I've been accused of not worrying, even though I do but have decided to step back and act as if I'm not. So, in other words, one of the things about being a parent that it's not easy to prepare yourself for, is being unable to win. It happens to me on a daily basis. I don't blame Amy, I expect I used to be the same when I was a child, and I'm sure my mum will agree. Then when our children get older, they realise that all the worrying was actually for a reason. Because we love them.

p.s. I've put the first of my guest posts on Marvellous Mable today, it's by Laurie Blair. 

Insurance Rip Off?

I was discussing car insurance recently with a friend of mine. When I first started driving aged 17, I can't remember what the cost of insuring my little Ford Fiesta was but I do remember spending an awful lot of time on the phone, ringing round for quotes. These days, it seems no matter how many quotes you receive, if you're a young driver between 17 and 24, you will pay an absolute fortune to insure your car. I know of young people who drive extremely carefully in their tiny engined cars and are being stung by companies. There is of course this stigma that if you're a young driver then you're also probably a reckless one, too. But that is something I am finding hard to agree with. Our main road known as the A1 is like a race track. The part where I live is a single carriageway and drivers speed up and down like there's no tomorrow. There are at least two major accidents a week on the stretch near where I live, caused by speeding or those who are just careless. There is no average, no statistical facts and certainly no particular age group that cause these accidents, some of which are fatal.

When my late father-in-law drove his car I used to fear for the lives of others on the road. I never got in the car with him because he used to frighten me with his recklessness, hitting the curb, fiddling with the radio, waving at passing motorists. And to top it all, he used to smoke whilst driving which was a reason in itself for me not to get in the car with him. My husband, even though a good driver, does have his moments where he is too busy waving at someone he knows that he fails to see the stationary car in front. I wonder if insurance companies tarn all young drivers with the same brush for a reason. I hold my hands up and admit I'm wrong if they can prove that the most reckless drivers on our roads are those of a young age, inexperience possibly playing a large part. But when I see grown men and women driving like nutters along a single carriageway, overtaking, weaving in and out, kids in the back, it really begs the question, are young people being ripped off?

p.s. don't forget about submitting your paranormal tales for my new blog, Marvellous Mable. Details here.

Reasons to be Cheerful

I've been doing a bit of "blog hopping" recently, i.e., finding new blogs to read and follow and making new friends in the process. Yesterday, I read a post which was titled "Reasons to be Cheerful" by Ghostwritermummy and discovered it's part of a linky where bloggers leave their link to their blog and give others the opportunity to read their post. It's a wonderful way of networking, that social interaction once more raising its fascinating head. As a keen blogger myself, promoting other blogs is, in my opinion, a great way to promote your own blog, too. And that is why I enjoy blog hops so much. Here are my three reasons to be cheerful this weekend:

1. My house is tidy. After taking the Christmas decorations down earlier in the week, I can look around the place and feel organised again. Don't get me wrong, I love the decorations and when they first go up the house comes alive with that wonderfully delicious atmosphere of cosiness. But I get to a point where I can't wait to take them down again and get the house back to normal.

2. I'm having chippy tonight, which means I don't need to cook. Being a shockingly lazy cook, I look forward to my Saturday nights when I can send the Farmer to the local chippy and warm the plates on the Aga. Fish, chips and curry goes down particularly well with a large glass of Vimto.

3. You. Okay, I know it sounds a bit cliche, and you're probably all reaching for the bucket, but really, without you, I wouldn't be blogging in the first place, because as most of you know, I blog to share my life experiences. If I had no one to share them with then I'd have to talk to myself all day. And that's not good for the image.

Join in if you like; I'm sure you can think of at least three reasons to be cheerful today. And if you're feeling low or are going through a bad time right now, maybe it will cheer you up to think about the good things in life. Our lives are so worth living, time is precious and we all have the ability to smile, even when we don't feel like doing. Have a great weekend xx

Guest Tales

It's something I've been thinking about for a while and have now decided to get on with it. We'll see how it goes for a bit, sort of a trial run if you like, and if it doesn't really work then it can always be withdrawn, but here goes:

I have created a new blog called "Marvellous Mable". You can access it through my sidebar and the link of course, which is http://www.marvellousmable.blogspot.com

The idea of the blog is to invite YOU, my followers, readers, friends and anyone else who has a tale to tell, to post about their paranormal experiences as a guest blogger. You will need to email me first with your post which will be included in the body of your email, and you must include a very short biography of 100 words maximum. I will need the link to your blog and, if you wish, Twitter and Facebook, but the blog link is the most important because then any readers will hopefully click on it and find you.

Obviously, I ask you to be honest and send me experiences which you either know or at least think, are real. I won't publish any stories which are quite frankly rubbish and I won't publish any if I think you are taking the piss; but I know most of you respect what you read on this blog and therefore will respect guest posts, too. I will try to post at least once a week, depending on how much response I get. Obviously, if I get no interest then I will just post my own experiences, but if I get loads of interest (which I'm hoping for), then we'll take it from there...

So, let's give it a try and see what transpires. You might find some interesting blogs to read in the process.... And don't be shy - I won't bite. Well, not all the time. My email address is crystal.jigsaw7@btinternet.com

Also, if any of you technical bods have any ideas on how to promote Marvellous Mable, perhaps by online tools or suchlike, then please let me know.

The Pitfalls and Benefits of Blogging

I've been blogging now for nearly four years and in all that time I have come across many arrogant and opinionated people. I have also come across some lovely people and made many good friendships in the process. But sometimes, it's the arrogant and opinionated people who overwhelm the joys of this incredibly sociable network and make me realise that some don't enjoy online communities as much as I do. Confrontation is something I abhor and I will always turn away from, so when someone makes me feel stupid and in the wrong I tend to clam up. But occasionally my inner strength rises to the surface and my instinct to ignore becomes something of an issue when I find myself being "virtually flogged".

Making friends is something I get little chance to do living in such a remote area, which is why I love blogging and other social networking sites so much. I'd like to think I'm a friendly type of person even though my confidence is easily knocked. I enjoy the competition that blogging brings and I love finding new blogs to read and follow. Being a member of Twitter has opened many doors for me and introduced me to a world of new experiences. I'm not a weak person nor am I a doormat. I might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I do know when to avoid a confrontational situation which may damage my reputation as someone just trying to get on in life; someone just wanting to be normal, eager to join in and make friends. Blogging and social networking isn't a hard cookie to crumble but it can sometimes cause misinterpretation, misunderstanding and misguidance. I'm just me; a mum, a writer, a farmer and a wife. But I intend to achieve something in my life, something worth fighting for, something worth working damned hard for. And I won't let arrogance and opinions pull me back from the life I intend to lead.

I work really hard on my blog, trying to publish posts as often as I can, even though I am desperately trying to prepare my book for submission. The blogging part all adds to the marketing and promotion, as does social networking in general. No matter how opinionated people become, it will never stop me doing what I love. These past few weeks I have made many new friends in the blogging world and discovered that my sheltered life in the sticks is actually pretty exciting. And that's why I have decided to write this post; I refuse to be intimidated anymore by people who think their opinions are more important than my own. This is my life and if I can help others to enjoy and appreciate the benefits of what I love doing, then I will. My new years resolution: make the inner strength, stronger.

My Birthday Girl

I read many posts about birthdays; our own, our children's, a family member or friend. But today I want you to read about one of the most special days in my life; 3rd January 2000. It was a Monday. At 2.47pm, I brought a miracle into the world when I gave birth to Amy. It was the first and last labour I would ever experience, and if I thought I couldn't bear the pain of a suspected pulled muscle the other day, I had no idea how unbearable the pain of giving birth would be. Excruciating is too mild a word. It is impossible to describe because it is a feeling that we, as women, would go through again and again for the bundle swathed in a blanket that was placed in our arms. Of course I wouldn't want to go through it again. Fortunately, I am unable to physically turn the clock back eleven years, but my unconditional love for Amy meant that the moment she entered our magical world, my life changed forever. We might have been through some ups and downs during these past eleven years, particularly concerning her diagnosis of autism, but believe me, it's all been worth it. And when I look at her beautiful face, when I reach into her heart with my words of "I love you", I remind myself how little pain I actually felt whilst giving birth compared to the love I am now able to experience.

She likes Justin Bieber and JLS, she swoons over Robbie Amell from True Jackson (he's pretty darn hot!) and she asks, "when I'm older will I have a boyfriend?" Questions like this indicate how much she has grown up this past year; how she is starting to see the world in a different light to her imagination surrounding Barbie. It's now become "Barbie and Ken". Of course I am aware of her realisations of growing up; the fact that I can no longer talk to her like she's my little girl, even though, in my eyes, she always will be; and I sometimes miss those earlier years of innocence, of playing with Postman Pat and his black and white cat. But it doesn't matter that I can't turn the clock back. I'll always have those memories and my love for Amy will ensure they are locked in my heart forever. Alongside my little girl.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMY