'Home'

Last night at the airport, as we waited for our flight to Dublin, Bug called me ‘Mammy’. Somehow during the 15 minute drive from Sale her lively brain had transformed me from her English ‘Mum’ into her Irish ‘Mammy’. “Mammy” she asks “Why do the Grannies talk about ‘Home’? You know, when they ask me are we looking forward to coming Home? Is Ireland really our Home? “ I reply with the truth “Well, I still call Ireland Home too...”. She’s so excited, “So Home is where you’re really from, where your family is...does that mean we really are Irish then?”. And so this morning walking from my Parent’s place, along the main road, I wave or nod at every driver that passes, not because I know them, but because they might know me. So long gone from this place, I can no longer remember their names nor they mine. But still they know me, even if they can’t put a name to me, because my heritage is written on my face and on my form – they will know which family I am from and before I get back will be reporting –“Saw an O’Connor on the road and she never recked* me”. Now I am not an O’Connor and never have been, but as one of my Aunts’ friends said on being introduced “We’ve never met, but I know you - I’ve seen your face before”. In Irish the word for ‘from’ is ‘as’ which literally means ‘of’ – so you are never ‘from’ but ‘of’ somewhere – that place formed you, your history is intertwined with it, and it never leaves you. ”You can take the man out of the bog but you can never take the bog out of the man” the joke goes, and in every joke there runs a vein of truth... I walk for an hour, in beautiful spring weather, the mountains white with yesterday’s snow, reflecting on the place and the people and what it means to me, and how it might still inform and influence my thoughts in the ‘real’ world today. Walking back along the same grey granite wall I walked at dawn after my Farewell party, just weeks before I emigrated, I realise I am indeed ‘of’ this place, in a way I can never be ‘of’ London or Surrey or Manchester and think yes, I am ‘Home’. *Recognised (Acknowledged)

No sooner started than I fell by the wayside. trying to ressurect my blogging. Reason for nothing to say? too fed up of the world. Bad couple of weeks. Finding it hard to control the kids. Tired out of my mind after work and still have to contend with all the school stuff and homework and cheek - I thought I had a few more years to go before the teenage strops.... While he was here they were good as gold of course but now he is gone again, its back to the same dark place.

First outing in the Blogosphere

Tonight I arrived home from work to find the sitting room floor covered in what looked like the droppings of psychedelic mice on acid, but which turned out to be the contents of the Hama bead kit the girls got for Christmas. At this point they are just gone to bed and I have decanted the said beads from every cereal bowl we possess, so we have something to eat breakfast off in the morning.
Was just thinking - am I the only working mum who looks on going back to work on a Monday as a rest? Nothing specifically bad at the week-end but I was SOOO tired. Himself away, my lovely Irish Au Pair visiting her folks, and me in sole charge, I didn't speak to another adult between leaving work on Friday and Macca ringing from New Zealand last night. Unless you count ordering a latte at Costa's and exchanging pleasantries at the checkout in Tesco.
Am now contemplating the night's TV viewing. Can I stay up for Nurse Jackie? Scary that I am starting to identify with her, minus the pills, and the affair, of course, there but for the grace as they say....