The 'C' word in November

I suppose the combination of the three 'C' words, Christmas, chocolate and children will inevitably result in excitement, energy and, finally, exhaustion, but we did it anyway, by agreeing to take two high octane little boys to Cadbury World for the day so that their lovely mummy could spend some much needed time with friends she hadn't seen for ages.

I don't know if I am good with children or not. I don't think a career in teaching naturally makes one a yummy mummy, all efficient and organised, but with still enough time to make home made play dough, braid exquisite plaits, search for fairies in the garden and still keep friends, look beautiful and remain calm, as the kitchen explodes in a cloud of flour and glitter. But I do love the chatter and company of children, their curiosity, their butterfly minds, their ability to switch from being egocentric whirligigs to smothering one with 'I love yous' and endless, sticky kisses. I adored the boys when they were babies; the time ticking by, as we spent hours getting to know each other through baby talk, nursery rhymes, peek-a-boo games, battles over any food that wasn't pink and sweet, stories and giggly tickles. Pure determination and stubbornness drove me to breast feed them both for over twelve months. Selfishness on my part meant that for six, five, four, two times a day, I got to do the most beautiful thing for my babies; our time to fall in love all over again, to shut out the world and build the bonds that hold them both to me now, and me to them. Soft, warm and increasingly heavy, their little bodies reconnected with mine and I loved that special time together.

It was the same determination, and stubbornness that enabled me to play their nonsense games, do the Thomas jigsaw for the hundredth time, not to hoover up every single piece of Lego from the lounge carpet and to find the lost cuddly they couldn't go to bed without, searching the house and garden until it was found. The same love and devotion that opened up the world for them, shared their wide-eyed awe at the ladybird on the leaf and dried their tears when they had fallen off their roller skates, had bitten their own tongues, or when their world had imploded and their frail shoulders shook with sobs for hours.
Loving your own children does come naturally, whether it is immediately or builds over time. However, it sometimes takes a little longer and a little bit more effort to love a baby or child, who is only tentatively connected, or maybe not at all. And sometimes it isn't easy.
Over the years, I have started that journey with a stranger-child, many a time; put in the time, the love and the effort, tried to allow the connections to build and never really succeeded for one reason or another. I child-minded for a while when Mark was little. It allowed me to stay at home with him, earn a little bit of money and contribute to holidays in France each sunny Summer. K was a sweet little thing and I did grow to be fond of her, but I needed to return to teaching and the relationship with K and her parents, sadly ended. My relationship with nephews and nieces ended when my marriage broke down and only the beautiful daughter of my ex-brother-in-law still calls me 'Auntie Viv'. Thank you, Emily.
The closest I ever came to having  a little person directly related to me was the joyous news that my brother's girlfriend was pregnant. I was to be an aunt, a real life aunt to a precious little girl. I would love her, spoil her, introduce her to books and the ballet. I was to be the crazy unconventional relative, slightly zany, but always available and fun. Sadly, it was not meant to be. Faith was stillborn at 37 weeks, and all we have is a memory box of pretty pink baby things and a few indescribably sad photographs of my tiny, fragile and very beautiful niece.
I do have four step-grandchildren, on whom you would think I would be able to lavish the time and the love and the relationship I long to have. However, they have proved over the years to be far too precious to be exposed to any deep and meaningful relationship with me. Because David is distant and slightly estranged from his sons, especially since Mark died, ( apparently, we make them sad and we are slightly too obsessed with including Mark in our conversations-oh dear!), we have an awkward relationship with the children. I do love them, enjoy them when we see them, and I am interested in their doings and achievements, but, oh, I wanted to be so, so much more.
Which brings me to the little people I do have in my life, not of the blood relation type, but who have brought joy, laughter and hope with each chattering tale, each 'light up the room' smile, each chubby hand in mine and each full tilt thump of a humungous hug. Two are the exquisite beauties belonging to Edwin and Tomoko, who gently dismantle our home, explore each drawer with delicate fingers, sing us songs and count in English and Japanese and who demonstrate such manners and innocence. We are totally mesmerised and enchanted by them. Edwin came to Mark's funeral in Taipei, cried like a baby at the loss of his dear friend, tells genuine stories of Mark with such warmth and love and treats us as part of his extended family. It is a privilege to know him, his beautiful wife and his sweet little daughters.
And B and her two boys. We are watching them grow, are being included and involved and my love for these two captivating little monkeys is growing and deepening. Again, they have become part of our lives because of Mark, because of his friendships, his loyalty and love. His legacy to us and my incredible gain.

Cadbury World on a Saturday at any time of year is probably not a great idea, but four weeks before Christmas makes it a fairly incomprehensible one. We met in John Lewis, had a white knuckle ride coffee, which included O, aged six, moving his chair to go and sit at another table, innocently occupied by a middle-aged couple; a 'nerf' rocket launcher, which 'accidently' kept being fired at unsuspecting shoppers minding their own business until hit in the arm, leg, head or coffee to the sound of boyish giggling; F secretly delighting in his brother being told off and then doing exactly the same thing, but with a 'who could resist me' smile. However, they were as good as gold on the packed train, held our hands tightly and chattered happily until we arrived at the place that promised so much. A non-descript lunch later and we headed for the 4D cinema to ride in space, whoosh and shoosh from chocolate lakes and mountain tops to impossible chocolate buildings fighting fire and flood; our seats, shuddering and tilting towards, left and right; stars, sweets and characters spinning and spiralling towards us. I think the boys enjoyed it almost as much as I did!
The tour itself, once we finally reached the front of the queue, was very well done, with enough to keep all our senses on high alert. The boys loved the interactive wheels, pulleys, levers and buttons and dials and were slightly less impressed with the projections of Mr Cadbury and Sons, speaking from the walls in old fashioned language. Moving swiftly on, we entered the packing area. How can watching boxes of chocolate twist, turn and roll their way along the conveyor belt provoke excitement beyond measure? But it did. Both boys exhibited interest, patience and awe-inspired concentration, as they watched box after box trundle its way to the outside world. We peered through stark windows at nameless, be-capped workers piping intricate patterns, messages and fancy Christmas baubles onto smooth, seductive blocks of chocolate. Mesmerising. I lost interest before the boys did, I can assure you, and, eventually, we were enticed on to a ride, which carried us through different parts of the world, from jungles to polar ice caps, a nearly as good, but not quite version of Disney's 'It's a Small, Small World.'

The ride poured us out into the gift shop where the purple world of Cadbury hypnotised the stupefied and, not to say, exhausted adults into giving in to the 'I want' pleas of off-spring. Just looking at the length of the queue snaking up and down the shop floor was enough for us to suggest a drink instead and we made our way back to the café area. Drinks bought, we had just sat down when the fire alarm went off. We gathered up two tired little boys, bags, coats, hats and gloves and headed outside into the dark and the rain. We were being herded efficiently to the courtyard, but instead we turned left to walk back to the station, leaving the chocolate world to its fate and trying to explain to little people that it was probably someone being very silly and pressing the wrong button, rather than the possible opposite reality of a melted world, where chocolate was no more.
Did we enjoy our day? You bet we did! Seeing the world through the eyes of a child again, feeling that squidgy hand in mine, wiping chocolate off everything and asking for the tenth time if they needed a wee before we joined the next queue, employing the never forgotten range of necessary distractions and answering endless questions are what I was meant to do, and thanks to Mark, to B and her amazing boys, that elusive role seemed just a little bit nearer.