OK, so that may be pushing things a little too far but hey, I can have my little fantasies, can't I?
Anyway, I'm lately I've been feeling like I've just stepped out of an Enid Blyton book - I've been making lashings and lashings of homemade lemonade:
{click for larger image and just look at that cool bottle}
The children are drinking it as fast as I can make it. In fact earlier this week I made a double batch, 5 pints, yes, that's 5 whole pints, and they drank it - all within an hour (maybe less!).
I'm not complaining though. They get a healthy dose of vitamin C and I get to feel like a traditional mum, providing 'old fashioned' homemade treats for her brood and feeling not a little smug!
I can't believe that my baby is now 6 years old! We took him and 4 friends to see Wall E at the cinema and to PizzaHut afterwards. His verdict? "It was the best day of my life!"
The funeral for my brother was held yesterday. It went as well as can be expected but was a very difficult day for us all. The last 2 weeks have been very difficult with a lot of questions, 'what-ifs' and replaying of scenarios going around and around in my mind.
For some things I will probably never have any answers. I will never know exactly what events contributed to him finally feeling he had no other option but to take his own life. I will never know whether if I had called him more often it would have made a difference. He was troubled, he never really did come to terms with my dad's death, he did make choices in his life that weren't good for him. This was so final though.
It does seem that some weeks prior he had taken steps to try to turn his life around. He did make an appointment with a doctor. Said he needed help. Said he needed counselling. Said he wanted to stop the drugs. But the system failed him. 12 weeks later he had still heard nothing. Would it have made a difference? I'd like to think so. I know that I didn't see him as often as I should. But I miss him, miss knowing that he was there, however much in the background. I wish I had one more chance to hug him. To tell him that I love him no matter what.
I remember the cheeky little boy he was (I was 5 and a half when he was born). The accident prone little monkey, always up to something, who insisted that his full name was Matthew Mortlock Brett, not accepting the Brett should be in the middle. The boy who when his mates would use bad language in front of me would tell them off for doing so. The man he turned in to, the one who was not ashamed to kiss his mum, dad or sisters and tell them he loved them - not caring even if his mates were watching. A man who loved his daughters, his little princesses, and no matter what he was going through himself made sure to keep in touch with.
Time heals, I know. I've lived through this before when my dad died. But it doesn't take away the loss, you still feel it, it just becomes something you learn to live with.
The old adage seems true... at least it does in our house according to Noah.
It was my birthday yesterday (thanks for the birthday cards and wishes, I had a lovely day) and the children woke me with cards and presents and singing.
All except Noah that is who came, literally with 'cup in hand', and announced that as of yesterday he was starting a charity. For himself!!! He is an avid collector of coins... he doesn't feel as if he has enough... and apparently he needs more.
The things this not quite 6 year old comes out with never ceases to amaze me.
So weekend before last we went back to my home town (or should that be city?) of Plymouth. Partly because it seems like ages since we went to stay at mums but, I have to admit, mostly so that we could see my cousin perform in the live final of the FX Factor on the Saturday night.
I am so proud of him, of what a great guy he is and of how he's turned his life around.
The evening was great, not necessarily because of the acts in the final (more on this later) but because it was so nice to get together with family. Something that I don't get to do a lot of having moved away when I got married.
To be honest there were some terrible, truly awful, 'how on earth did they make it to the final?' acts but Sam was worth the wait. He came third. Not a bad result but I do think he should have won - and that from a completely unbiased point of view (OK, I admit maybe slightly the biased - but only slightly!). The winner did have a good voice but she only did a cover version, likewise the girl who came second, Sam on the other hand was true to himself and who he is as an artist and performed one of his own songs - that makes him the winner in my mind.
You can check his stuff out on his MySpace site (linked above) but I just want to post this video recently uploaded onto YouTube. It's a video directed by a Jeremy Ngatho Cole and is the final part of a Music Video Trilogy, starring Andy Douglas (don't ask, I have no idea...). The most important thing is that music used for the video is Sam's. His vocals, his song, him singing it on the video!
And my favourite line from the song?
"I know what kinda of man I want to be, the man who when my children look and see, they are proud of all I am"
He came around to mum's on the Sunday, brought his guitar and gave an inpromptu performance of some of his songs. He sang this then, the first time I've heard it and this line brought tears to my eyes.
