Two weddings, a funeral and a moonwalk off the planet

This time I really have been absent from my beloved GiddyKipperHome due to attending Rather Glamorous Events.

Two weddings in two days - a weekend that will be hard to top.

I got so into the swing of things that I have taken to wearing sky-high heels, silk dresses and flowers in my hair for the walk to school.
I like to propose a toast about 3pm to anyone nice close-by, whilst swigging from a bottle of bubbly.
The kids are a little tired of my insisting on a "first dance" everytime we put some music on.

My DNA is made up of love-hearts, confetti and poetic license.
I would like to attach ribbons to my car, hug everyone in the room and tell stories about how we first met.

Yes you, dear Internet...
Ahem... your attention please...

Dear InterwebSuperHighway
It's been many years now and we have stuck together on our journey, which could be described as virtual.
You have taught me so much: Like, How to be patient.
You minx you - so often you wouldn't be rushed... you'd download when good and ready baby.
I know now your vast knowledge is worth the wait -
How to remove hair extensions?
(if you ever find yourself unable to go back to Toni and Guy to have your wag hair removed due to catching nits from your kids) You know how to do it. Without judgement.
Unsure as to how to actually spell judgement? You informed me.
When do school children go back after half-term? You tell me.
Is Britney ok? You let me know. Sort of.
Where can I buy an orangutang costume? You find it for me.

Of course, there has been hard lessons that I have not always understood... yes, I admit, I held a grudge over the Stevie Wonder tickets that never arrived - a year on I am beginning to be able to talk about it.
Hmmm....
Actually, think I do still hold grudge...............


Probably a good point to stop writing a marriage speech to the Internet.
Cos that would be a very weird thing to do... only really geeky bloggy type people would do that.

Moving swiftly on...

Mr and Mrs Nomie and Stupot - your wedding was everything I knew it would be. Any bride that dances down the aisle with her funky bridesmaids to Fat Boy Slim's "Praise You" is starting out her married life with the right idea if you ask me.

Claire and Gordon - only you guys could get away with an Alice in Wonderland theme, a bride who can wear a black dress SO wide it's a good job we were in a stately home in which to house it - accessorising with a random white parrot shows style and initiative.

Big love to you who tied the knot and big love to all of us lucky enough to share it
.
You almost managed to distract Reggie from his mourning of the King of Pop. In fact, I definitely saw him smile several times and was pretty concerned that that would never happen again.

X X X X

How to feel like a rubbish Mum

Children's bedtime at our house:

Me - Do you need your inhaler again?
Romany - Yes, but I thought you would tell me off.

Ouch
Thought she knew the difference between extra snacks or stories and life-saving medicines.

I blame the parents. (who's parents exactly does this phrase refer to? cos they responsible for a lot...)

Hi honey, I'm home

Haven't had much room for GiddyKipBlogging this week.

This has been mostly due to flying first class to Paris to critique couture collections, only to return via Brazil to play surdu in a carnival parade and drop in on Cazzer Vorderman to finish off a particularly challenging word search for her.

It's also been due to working in York 4 days out of 5, Ro being diagnosed with asthma, attending committee meetings and producing databases for the Leeds Primary School Fun Run that took place today.

It's good to be back.
I almost wasn't.....
well, ok, I have been known to exaggerate occasionally but truly did experience potential disaster.

Beware the glass door handle.

I bought a fancy spherical (like that word) chunky posh glass door handle.
Fit it proudly on my front room door.
It fell off.
Glued it back on.
It fell off.

Shoved it on the windowsill and left it there.
Bit like the naughty step for wayward home accessories.

I was speaking on the land line - usually reserved for people who ring us specially to offer us things that had never occurred to us to go out and buy ourselves (like gas or electricity or even phone lines). I usually put one of the kids on the line and encourage them to ask lots of questions. Romany actually found out loads about Neil from the mortgage company...

Whilst speaking on the land line I inadvertently knocked the door handle off the window ledge and onto the floor. Being slightly slovenly I didn't pick it up but sat back on the sofa with the kids....

Then The Carpet Began To Smoke.
I calmly shrieked at the children to Stand Back....

Yes, you got it - hot day, sunshine on glass, posh door handles equals Burning.
It really did burn a hole in the carpet.
(It's ok it complements the burn I made when setting down a pan of freshly made popcorn.)

I bravely saved the day, put out the (potential) fire and led the children to safety. (Cole subsequently required a lot of reassurance about glass and why windows are actually ok - even on cars - and glass vases on shelves are no danger.)

It IS a good job we were in though isn't it?

so we all survived and I also survived the Fun Run today - though that is a whole other story which I will type once my limbs stop throbbing.
Have walked, run, carried and fetched since 7am this morning and what did I learn today? That traffic cones are bloody heavy and our park warden is a twat.

Hallelulah

Much needed uplifting weekend.
Felt pretty drained after Thursday's funeral, not to mention slightly fuzzy headed after downing a bottle of red.
Saturday we were invited a close friend of ours' M, holy communion.
I met his Mum at NCT classes when I was pregnant with Romany and she was pregnant with M.
We were never particularly close during the classes, but the first night out we ever had with the group found just the two of us at 2am in a club dancing to Madonna... our magnificent breasts filled up to the brim as we'd never left our babies for that long. Somehow I knew we'd be friends.

Neither Reg nor I and definitely not Romany and Cole had ever been to the Catholic Holy Communion. Our kids go to a Church of England school so we not strangers to the Methodist Church.

We had to get there for 9.30 which involved much organisation and delivering of ultimatums. Get dressed now, don't argue, clean your teeth or you not going to BBQ celebration after Church... and that was just to Reg. (I know, cheap gag... but makes me laff)

Bribed Ro into a gorgeous dress and wrote her a cheque for my life-savings to get her to wear her hair out. (She has got The Most Fantastic curly hair but wishes for "flat" hair and spends ages brushing and spraying it - which of course makes it bigger and frizzier)
So we all got there on time with our shoes on the right feet... the kids were given a stern talking to on the way about sitting still and not burping loud.
Cole wore his one and only smart-shirt - Tesco's finest - but somehow still looked like he should be surfing the waves somewhere.

The service was interesting. I do like the rituals of religion and I liked the jolly joke-cracking Priest who conducted it. (A different Priest opened the gig by Shhhing us all into the microphone, then reeled off a list of things we weren't allowed to do ie. take photos, cartwheel down the aisle etc etc. He was lacking in charisma to say the least.)
Was relieved when he was relegated to back-up-guy and jolly priest took centre stage.
There was much standing up then sitting down.
Repeating lines and shaking hands.
Romany turned to me at one point and said, "This is very complicated."
As it was my second time in one week to find myself in church - the other being Granpop's funeral - I was amazed to find the exact same hymn my Granpop chose there in front of me again.
I really had to try my best to do the delicate eye-dabbing kind of crying rather than the red-faced, snotty gulping type I specialise in.


Another favourite bit to me was standing up for a rather long speech from Jolly Priest and Ro whispering to me to ask if she could sit down.
I replied with, "Just stand up til the end of this bit, then you can."
I literally ended that sentance and the Jolly Priest said: "And Jesus replied, Let them Sit Down."
Ro just looked at me and shrugged then parked herself back on the pew.
(she also pulled out her MP3 player but no permission was given for that so I put it away)

Cole struggled as at no point in the ceremony were we asked to run really fast or kick a football really high or do a fake burp.
His addition to the goings on were, just after Jolly Priest had sung a couple of lines, Cole whispered in my ear: "Washing machines last longer with Calgon."
Amen.
(What do you mean he watches too much tv...)

The most enlightening part was the service ended, we all went straight into the church hall where THE BAR OPENED. It was only 12 o'clock mid-day.

The rest of the day was spent back at M's house with a huge BBQ and lots and lots of lovely people. The sun shone and the children played in the huge green leading from the garden where we sat.

It was good timing for me and a reminder of beginnings and endings and all that is in between.

Have got a belter of a week ahead of me: lots of work, car with crunchy brakes to sort, final Commitee meetings for Fun Run I am helping to organise which is next Saturday... had a restful day today laying in the park occasionally throwing a frisbee in the sunshine.

Ready to begin again Monday morning, with my new mantra: washing machines last longer with calgon

Update on Carnival/Funeral

A very intense day.
A very lovely day in many ways.

A day that reminds me of when you were a kid and you laughed and cried at the same time and couldn't explain how you were feeling - the only sounds possible to produce were:
haha hee hee boo hooo waaahhh hee HEE HA HAAAA ooh aaahhh BOO HOO
(repeat etc etc)
(I am clearly about to win several awards for my writing skills. Move over Dooce.)

I did a lot of the above.
For most of the day.

Granpop's ashes are going to be mixed with his beloved dog's and chucked into the canal he lived beside for the last 50 years....
ha ha HA HAAA aaahhh ooh Boo Hoo... etc etc

Ended the day with my gentle giant brother with his tattoos and pierced face.
Mutual admiration between him and Ro/Cole on account of burping-on-demand capabilities...
I know when I'm beat and resorted to the stern words: That Is Enough Now.
Burping each word, of course.
(how easy it still is to shock/impress my kids)

Great thanks to my beautiful girlfriends on-hand at the end of the day with large glasses of pinot or a text or phone call.
My very own team of professional life-savers.
Am very glad to be alive.

Granpop's carnival

It's my Granpop's funeral tomorrow.
(or his "carnival" as Cole called it. A title I much prefer.)

I have been gracious and grown up and philosophical about him dying - he was 94.
Yet today, my throat has had a permanent lump and my bottom lip a definite wobble.
A photo in the paper of a soldier coming home and scooping up his little daughter made my eyes fill.
Ro left a note on my bed with drawn-on wonky hearts and declarations of love - she is very generous with her love letters (I intend to keep them all to get me through her teenage years).
An Abba song I'm not even particularly fond of, came on the radio and it reminded me of my Mum - Granpop's daughter - and I imagined them together and bawled.
(And I was driving on the fast lane of the A64.)

I guess this is all pretty standard, healthy and normal - gosh, did I just describe myself as normal? I digress...

My Mother's sisters will be at the funeral tomorrow.
My Aunties.
The Aunts who sound like her, look a bit like her (not as beautiful, of course) and remind me of the time when she was here.
The Aunts who didn't keep in touch with me after my Mum/their sister died and I was 12 years old.
The Aunts who didn't help to educate me about the implications of breast and ovarian cancer - for me and my daughter.
Me, bitter?
Yes, a bit. Sometimes.

I know the day is for Him and I will attend with dignity and grace.
And then I will come back home to my little family to whom I am So Very Grateful.
(And then I will drink gin and look at old photos and draw moustaches on the aunties' pics and make crass jokes at their expense. With maturity and dignity of course.)

Farewell Granpop. The Original GiddyKipper x x

My Granpop

Up to the age of six, I lived next door to my Granpop.
He was father to seven children, one of whom was my beloved Mum.
He named her Susan but she also used the name Maxine when she became a model.

He went by the name of Arthur Clarke and was, quite simply, amongst other things, fantastically bonkers.

Whilst my mum was growing up he was a baker and had his own shop.
He told me a thousand times the story of how my mum sold the sawdust-filled pretend pies from the shop window. I enjoyed the story every single time.

(I'm never sure whether it was actually true, that one man came banging on their door on Christmas day with a fake pork pie in his hand which my then teenage mother had sold him.)

I always felt he was especially fond of my mum and I think she was his favourite - he was very proud that she won a scholarship to private school. He used to call her "Lady Pheobe"... and would naturally expand this title with the byline - "Lady Pheobe, dips her comb in her teapot."
As you do...

He told me that my sister Gemma was actually born without a nose and that he had to make her one out of dough... which obviously then entitled him to sing to her, at every opportunity "There's no business like dough business..."

Granpop specialised in making me laugh.
Over the years he got so confident in my finding him funny that he coined a phrase that I have stolen and use myself - "funny lamp".
(yes I know, innovative and witty...)
He would catch my eye, point to the light fitting and mouth the words. And I would always laugh. Why I laughed I'm never quite sure but it eventually got to the point where he could just nod in the direction of the lamp...
Sometimes I laughed just to humour him and then that would make me laugh for real. I loved his disregard as to who had just died/divorced/stopped speaking/any other family drama - a funny lamp is a funny lamp afterall.

Even when it had been far too long between my visits to his house - I would knock on his door - he would open the door and say, "Dustbin men round the back" and close it again.
(He would let me in eventually...if only to point at his funny lamp.)

Apparently when I was about 3 he pinched a single currant from my toasted tea-cake and I threw an earth-shattering tantrum which he never forgot.
I'm sure this can't possibly have been true...

On Wednesday June 3rd 2009, my Granpop left this planet.
He was 94.

I know he missed my mum/his daughter terribly so I like to think they are together now.

I also like to think when my time comes he'll be waiting at those pearly gates to deliver his line: "dustbin men round the back".
And I will laugh.

Farewell Granpop, I'll keep my eye on that funny lamp.