Both Duncan and I attended our local art school and so each year we try to make it to the Degree show. In years gone by we would go to the opening night and drink the free wine and mingle with art crowd. Now we are 'old' (read, have a small child), we have to go during the day.
It is quite interesting taking a 3 year old to a graduate show, they have no preconceptions about what is good or bad and are quite happy to shout out their opinion. When we were walking away from one piece, a young couple passed us, and the girl turned to the guy and said 'yes, but what is it?' Oscar turned to her very sincerely and said, 'its a spiders web'. I think you will be able to tell which piece he was talking about from the photos.
On our way to the School Of Art
: :
: :
And On To The Work
: :
: :
: :
: :
Oscar has no idea who Elvis is, so when this dude passed us about 20 times, Oscar didn't bat an eyelid, which was more amusing to me than if he had recognised the costume
: :
: :
: :
: :
There was also a gold toilet on a stage, but the picture didn't turn out because it was in a dark spotlit room
: :
: :
: :
This is talking about my good friend Laura, it made her laugh when I sent her this picture
: :
: :
: :
: :
Clearly not part of the show, but it sure brings back memories
: :
: :
And that was about as much as Oscar could manage. Some of may favorite drawing and painting pieces aren't shown here, these are really the things Oscar liked. I will try and put together a post of my favorite pieces later in the week.
Details on the art school can be found HERE, and if you are in the area, the Degree show runs all this week, and it is well worth a look.
Before Ellie Rose died, and I know that for sure because we had an ultrasound after, I had a dream. In the dream Duncan and I were walking through our town centre. The town centre has been hugely modernised lately, but in the dream it was the town centre of my childhood. It looked exactly as it did in the 1970s. I was carrying our baby in my arms in the dream, I don't know if she was dead or alive, but she was wrapped in a hospital towel instead of a blanket. Duncan was walking ahead and making me hurry because he was late for work and stressing about it. I kept saying we had to find a shop to buy the baby a blanket because she was born too soon and we didn't even have a blanket to wrap her in. (yes the baby was a 'she' in the dream).
For the rest of my life I will never know if my body had sent my mind a signal of what was unfolding, or if this was a natural pregnancy anxiety dream. Some days I wonder if I will find out the answer after my life.
I cast on a pure wool blanket a few days later and kept it safely for the baby. I figured that since she was ok (heart beating at the ultrasound following the dream), I was being silly making it so early.
When we brought Ellie home she was in a little white box. When we went to bed on the first night Duncan wrapped the box in the blanket and brought her to our bedroom.
That's all I have to say about it really.
Valerie
xxx
There are tiny footprints so perfect and so small. These tiny footprints never touched the ground at all. Not one tiny footprint for now I have wings. These tiny footprints were meant for other things. You will hear my tiny footprints in the patter of the rain. Gentle drops like angel's tears of joy and not from pain. You will see my tiny footprints in each butterflies' lazy dance. I'll let you know I'm with you if you just give me the chance. You will see my tiny footprints in the rustle of the leaves. I will whisper names into the wind and call each one that grieves. Most of all these tiny footprints are found within your heart. Even though I'm gone now We'll never truly part.
I have had a few things on and off the pins this week, including a cap for Duncan (for gardening in the drizzly Scottish weather), a hat for a giveaway coming up soon, and numerous designs for my baby hat collection (deciding to sell hats has made me so picky about yarn colour and design, nearly there now though).
The thing that has meant the most to me though, is a little bunny I knitted for Ellie Rose. When I came home from the hospital after Ellie was delivered I knitted up a little white bunny to sit by her. I wasn't very keen on it though, but it was all I could manage at the time. I have put that little bunny in her memory box and knitted up a new one. You can see the bunny in yesterdays post too. If you look closely you will see she is sitting on a little oak box, which has a little white satin bag inside with a little sprinkle of ashes in the bag from Ellie's cremation. I know it might freak some people out, but I am starting to get beyond worrying that other people will think I am morbid or crazy. Anyway, the bunny, who is nameless and may just always be Ellie's bunny, is keeping her company.
: :
Sadly, parents who have lost a baby will recognise the ribbon on her dress. For those of you who don't, its the Baby Loss Awareness ribbon, and you can purchase one HERE
: :
: :
And so to the book this week.
Make Your Creative Dreams Real by Sark - Amazon Linky
: :
I am about half way through this and I still have not made my mind up yet. It has a strange style of narrative which claims to have a slightly hypnotic/subliminal message quality. I can sort of see how that might work. Duncan said he couldn't read this because it combines different font styles and sizes, often on the same line, and this would annoy him too much. This does not bother me too much. The problem I am having is that the book regularly gives the reader exercises to do there and then (i.e. write down all the things which you think block you reaching your goals). This is all well and good, but I tend to read in the last hour of my day (which is when I have peace and quiet to read), and so I cant be bothered to write out lists. I think the bottom line is, its a good book but not really bed time reading.
Despite all the illness and sadness around here lately, there have been some small and almost overlooked things which have made me happy, and if the little things can make me smile, I count myself very lucky.
The Lilac Bush In The Garden
: :
A Mascara (which even makes my puffy eyes look better)
It was a funny old birthday for Duncan yesterday, and at some point in the future I will give him a 36th birthday over again. I am fairly tearful right now (hormone crash?), and I am afraid it got the better of me a few times over the day.
Still, I managed cake.
: :
: :
Oscar has been poorly though, which I suspect is down to sharing the germ love during his first week at nursery. He has been running a temp since Saturday evening and over the course of the day yesterday he was overcome with snot. He had a go at the cake, but in the end he only really ate the frosting.
For better or worse I decided to go to my life drawing class last night. I have had a huge urge to draw and paint these last couple of weeks. I expect it is a way to get my feelings out without an explosion (depending on the painting of course).
I was fairly nervous having missed so many weeks, and I was even more nervous that someone would ask if I had been ill. I was just 4 or 5 weeks pregnant the last time I took the class. No one asked though, although I think that was out of politeness because the nice old ladies there do like to gossip.
The drawing was good, although the drawings themselves were rough. I really enjoyed thinking about drawing instead of the endless ticker-tape of grief. There are only 2 classes left until the summer break, which is a real shame. I am in the process of making a studio space for myself though, because I am determined to make time in my life for my passions.
People are always saying how chilled out Duncan and I are. I suppose it is relative. Since Oscar came along I have noticed that Duncan tends to be more prone to freak-outs, or rather, over-reactions. He is a loving father who leaps off the chair at the first sign of a fall or a scrape. I am a bit more laid back about it, possibly having been through hundreds of scrapes with the older 2 children (Duncan and I moved in together when the older 2 were 8 and 10).
Since the baby died I wonder if people even see any duality in me (Duncan does of course because we discuss it). Part of me is saying, 'come on girl, pull your socks up, make a million plans and keep busy'. And at the same time I want to lie in bed all day in a tear stained nightgown (dramatic much?).
I have been pushed out of the house amongst strangers this past week because Oscar has started nursery (and somehow found myself in a staff / parent meeting to discuss the upcoming events, Diamond Jubilee, End of Year parade with floats and Olympic themed sports day). Part of me wanted to hide in my coat and not be spoken to or noticed at all. Another part of me wanted to stand on my chair and shout, 'my baby died 3 weeks ago you know'. I didnt do either, I nodded and smiled and said yes in the vote for crown making kits as opposed to chocolate gifts.
I expect if we could see inside other people's heads it would be a truly terrifying experience.
One week, 7 days and 7 nights. It seems like this last week has gone past in a blur, and yet at the same time, it seems I have been in this non-pregnant-no-baby limbo for ever. It is difficult to remember not to rub my empty tummy, especially when I am having morning sickness.
The sickness must be on the wain though, because I am having coffee for breakfast this morning. I don't even like coffee really, but I expect to a hardened coffee drinker, my 3/4 (soya) milk hazelnut infused scant spoonful of instant 'coffee' does not really count as coffee at all.
I woke at 6.45am today, which perhaps is giving the wrong impression that I had slept all night, which I didn't. I could hear Duncan moving around downstairs, I could smell his (real) coffee brewing, and I heard the door closing gently as he left for work. He leaves for work at 7am so he can get out of the office at 4pm. Its for my benefit, so I don't need to do dinner and bath and grumpy time alone with Oscar.
Oscar was in bed with me, like he normally is. His head was squashed in to my arm and I could hear his snuffly breathing. I like it. I like that I can smell his hair and kiss his head without him running away. We got to the 'stop kissing me Mama', stage so fast. When he is tired these days he rolls around with his, frankly, disgusting sookie blanket, making whimpering puppy noises (he told me himself it was puppy noises). But I dare-nt kiss him, he scrambles away. A kiss goodnight and a kiss goodbye and a kiss when he is hurt is about my limit. Are girls more affectionate? Had my little baby lived, would she have tolerated being over-kissed at 3 years old, or 4 years old or 14 years old? I think my older daughter liked to be kissed more than my boys, but its funny how much you forget.
A strange thought occurred to me before Ellie was . . . . . and that's another thing. What is the end of that sentence? Was she born? To call her miscarried seems cruel, but she wasn't a stillbirth either. The days of a nurse running off with a bedpan before the parents look in it (and never to speak of it) are long gone . The hospital cremate all the little babies, so doesn't it seem wrong to say, 'yeah we cremated our miscarriage' I think we need another word. A word that respects what was once life, even for a few small weeks. A word that lies someplace in between miscarried and stillborn. What could that word be? I am not trying to say my baby was born at an age where she had any chance of survival outside her Mama, but also, she was born.
Anyway, the thought before Ellie, was 'delivered'. If she came at home, which we were warned she might (after the first set of drugs). This might be my only chance at having a home birth, because my previous history made it unsafe for me to have a healthy baby at home, but it was ok to deliver a tiny dead one. I am not quite sure what to think of that.
So, we are 1 week on, 7 days and 7 nights. If something huge and catastrophic happens to a person, they often wonder how on earth they can still be standing afterwards. I feel like that. I think that I will fall down at any moment, but for now at least I am standing. I cant speak for tomorrow or the day after.
I cry in the shower so I don't scare anyone, its the British way, to hide it don't you know. Its a terrible way to be. Except for maybe my little son, he does'nt deserve to be scared of his mama.
Written on Friday 04th May 2012 (I need to give myself some time in between writing and posting these days, I don't want to regret anything afterwards).
