Slow down, you move too fast

It’s been a little over three weeks since we returned from our holiday to the Gold Coast, a vibrant, glamorous (if a little hectic) region just south of Brisbane. Our expectations for the holiday had been realistically set; this was not a place for relaxing but there would be plenty to do, the weather would be divine and the beaches glorious expanses of white sand. It reminded me of Florida; a bit of Destin with a splash of Miami.

A good friend who grew up on the Gold Coast gave us a spectacular lowdown, the stuff we really needed to know – best coffee, super parks and the top places for a family meal. The big things we worked out for ourselves but those tips were invaluable, saving us precious ‘hit and miss’ time in a much needed family week.

And so we returned to life in Sydney – work for Mister, school for Miggins and lots of fettling for TJ and me, not least in starting to plan his pirate birthday party and, two weeks later, a BBQ for 25 of our friends and 25 of their littlies to celebrate our first anniversary of landing in Sydney.

The pirate party was a huge success – 7 pirates, 1 Captain America, 1 who didn’t do costumes, 1 Rapunzel, 1 fairy and 1 princess. An eclectic mix but it worked and it proved a fantastic rehearsal for the massive BBQ that was to follow. It was hectic, though, in its preparation and execution (I know 3 year olds don’t care if the bathroom mirror is windexed and the inside of the microwave is clean, but this 36 year old does…) and we kept going afterwards, clearing up, grumbling over England’s loss in the rugby then straight to swimming lessons and before we knew it, it was Monday morning again.

It struck me as I was dashing about over the following week that I used to look at mums (and dads) like me and think “What do you do? What do you actually do? If you’re not working, can’t you just sit around and take the day as it comes? How can you be so ‘busy'”. And some days, despite his huge respect for me in my newish role as a full time mum, I know Mister wonders the same thing (sometimes, forgetting himself, he wonders this out loud, then immediately tries to suck the words back in, as my old courtroom persona revives itself and constructs a bulletproof defence). I won’t regale you with a blow by blow account of my average day (I save that for my closing submissions in the aforementioned courtroom drama) save as to say that it is unfathomably busy; that single four letter word describes it to a T.

So in the midst of ‘busy’ I was thrown a curveball, which is a regular occurrence in the pockettpause household and one that usually only changes the direction and purpose of the day rather than its pace but this time TJ was poorly and that means brakes on, blankets out, any whiff of franticism expelled. Slowing down. Slowing right down.

Characteristically, I still find it hard to just stop. 5 years ago, when I was 29 weeks pregnant with Miggins, I was told by my doctor that I would need to be admitted to hospital for a week of strict bed rest. Having been assured that medically, if I rested, the baby and I would be fine, I tentatively asked if I could bring in my work laptop to finish a crucial statement that needed to be filed that week. I promised to type lying down. My request was met with a curt “No”, a scribble on my medical notes (which I later deciphered to read “advised patient to refrain from working whilst on bed rest”) and a relieved look on Mister’s face. “You just have to stop, just stop”.

Back to last week, still battling inertia and fighting to keep TJ’s temperature down we whizzed off to the doctor’s surgery only to be told “No, it’s not an infection, he doesn’t need antibiotics, just plenty of fluids, Panadol for his temperature and rest, plenty of rest”.

So we pottered home and sank into the sofa, feeling like we’d both take the doctor’s prescription of rest, just rest. And although I might have sporadically reached for my trusty phone to google ‘party hire’ and ’10-day weather forecast’ in anticipation of our upcoming shindig, I figured we’d had a good enough rehearsal with our pirates and misfits party and really it was just a BBQ with our lovely friends who didn’t give a hoot about the inside of my microwave. So I stopped; we stopped. And it felt good.

I’ve got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready for sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
Life, I love you,
All is groovy



I rarely get spooked. Nothing really scares me. Well, ok, I have been known to run a mile from a wasp but really scared? Truly spooked? No.

But today, on this Halloween of days, I was spooked.

Things started well and ended even better. It was our first proper Halloween and we started preparations early, carving a pumpkin on Friday afternoon (which subsequently disintegrated over the weekend, but noone seemed to notice that it wasn’t there on our terrace this afternoon) and making a Halloween mobile to hang over our front door. I’d never entered into the spirit of Halloween before but last year, in a token effort to do something, I hurriedly bought some Marks and Spencer sweets from London Bridge station on the way home from work, in case we had some trick or treaters. Unsurprisingly, come 10pm and with no revellers having rung our bell, Mister and I shared out the haul. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be bothered or that I was fundamentally opposed to the idea of Halloween, I just didn’t get it.

Back in Balgowlah, we had costumes and face paints at the ready and my expectation was that we would dress up, sit on our terrace and wait for a handful of trick or treaters to pass through before calling it a day. I happened to mention this to a friend at school and moments later received a text, inviting us to join up with their family to trick or treat on the streets of North Balgowlah. With no idea what to expect and with costumed children at the ready, I thought, ‘well, why not?’. TJ and Miggins were beside themselves with excitement but it soon became clear that they didn’t get it, either. And how could they? I had been so vague about the whole thing that they were sort of just cobbling along with my sudden enthusiasm for all things spooky. So we jumped onto our broomstick and headed into the unknown.

It was a balmy 24 degrees when we emerged into what felt like film set, with tens of children milling about in various guises, from the traditional witches and ghosts to the less traditional fairies, gnomes and members of the mafia. House after house was bedecked with cobwebs, skeletons and spiders but it didn’t feel tacky or cringeworthy, it felt like honest, wholesome, fun. TJ’s reaction to his first sweet was to promptly sit down and eat it and it took some time (and a small amount of foot stamping on his part) to persuade him that if he collected the sweets they were his, to keep. He moved pretty swiftly after that, quickly realising that the more ground he covered, the bigger his haul. Smart lad. Miggins consulted with me after each house, asking ‘are we allowed these ones’, she, too, in wide eyed wonder at this unexpected, surreal experience.

After an hour of trick or treating and with the children’s plastic pumpkin-pots brimming, we were ready to head home. The sweets were emptied onto the kitchen table and I listened whilst Miggins negotiated some swaps with TJ, at one stage convincing him that the pink lollipop that she was coveting in his pile probably tasted like a dog biscuit. He quickly gave it up. She also accumulated a pile of hard sweets, knowing that as a child I once swallowed a hard sweet whole and came very close to choking and she wasn’t about to let the same fate befall her or TJ. She mixed the unwanted ‘chokers’ and all of the green sweets into our trick or treat bowl and she and TJ waited, now in their pyjamas, for our own trick or treaters to arrive at the gate. As darkness fell and as the sandman paid his visit, TJ and Miggins drifted off to bed, with visions of sweets, pumpkins and happy, balmy nights dancing in their heads.

But I was spooked. Shaken up.

In the heat of the afternoon, my little witches and I decided that we would have a dip in the pool before our Halloween revelries commenced. Miggins and TJ waited patiently on the steps of our pool whilst I, a mere 3 feet away, cleared something from the edge of the pool. At that exact moment, an inflatable toy floated past TJ’s feet in the pool and the last thing I heard was ‘watch me surf Mummy’ before Miggins shouted ‘TJ!’ and I looked to see a blue hat bobbing on the surface of the pool with TJ flailing beneath it. I know I reacted immediately, jumping in and calmly pulling TJ up and into my arms but the replay feels so slow, so tortuous, so frightening. TJ cried for a second then proudly said ‘I went under without my goggles’ and we all carried on. But I was spooked.

So whilst our first Halloween felt more like a fairytale, it didn’t come and go without a scare, without a moment of terror, without a residual feeling of unease and without a lesson learnt. And I, for one, would be happy if I never, ever, get spooked again.

17 minutes to Cromer

24 October 2012, 12:25pm, driving to Miggins’ gymnastics class in Cromer. Miggins and TJ in the back of the car

Pulling out of the driveway

Me:  OK, let’s go… have you got your lunchboxes?

Miggins:  Yep

TJ:  I can’t open mine. I CAN’T OPEN MINE. I CAN’T… It’s open now.

Listening to the radio

TJ:  Where are we going

Me: Gymnastics

Miggins:  My gym

TJ:  Oh. When’s my gym?

Me:  It was yesterday. Yesterday afternoon.

TJ:  Oh. Why do we have our lunches?

Me:  Because the class is at 12:45 so we have to have lunch in the car, on the way.

Miggins:  It’s a makeup class, ‘cos we missed my class last week so I’ve got an extra one

TJ:  An extra one?

Me:  Yes

Miggins:  It’s a makeup, not an extra one. A makeup.

TJ:  Oh…. I can’t find my spoon. Where’s my spoon. WHERE’S MY SPOON?

Me: It’s…

TJ:  I wanted a pirate on my yogurt, not the one with a dragon on. I like the pirate yogurt. I wish I had the pirate yogurt. I went to your party in my pirate costume didn’t I Miggins?

Miggins:  Yep

TJ:  Where’s my pirate costume? Mummy? Mum?

Me: It’s in your bedroom, with the dressing up stuff.

TJ:  Oh… I wish I had put it on for gym. [to Miggins] can I have your spoon? Do you have a spoon? I can’t find my spoon.

Miggins:  Yep

Hands over the spoon


Miggins:  Yellow car

TJ:  Yellow car

MIggins:  I saw it first

TJ:  No you didn’t, I saw it too. I did see it. I saw it didn’t I, Mummy? Mummy? Mum? Didn’t I?

Me:  Why don’t you have one point each?

Miggins:  Daddy says it’s half a point if you both see it.

Me:  OK then, half a point each.

Miggins [whispered to TJ]:  I actually saw it first

TJ:  How old are you Mum? Mummy? Mum?

Me:  35. And you don’t need to say ‘Mum’ lots of times, just once…

TJ:  OK mum. Same as Daddy? And Uncle Mark? Mum?

Me:  Yep

TJ:  Oh

Listening to the traffic report on the radio

MIggins:  Do you think we’ll ever have a crash?

Me: Ummm…. Hmmmm… well that’s quite a tricky one to answer. I don’t want to say no, because that might jinx it but I don’t think we will and anyway, we have a really safe car, that’s why we got Duey, because he’s really safe.

TJ:  We love Duey, don’t we mum. Mum?

Miggins:  But we’ll try not to have a crash, won’t we? I mean, well, won’t we?

Me:  Yes, of course, sweets, you musn’t worry about…


Miggins:  [to TJ] it’s actually my spoon

Me, reaching round to the back of the car, trying to get the spoon off the floor

Miggins:  Mum, just a bit closer, it’s just a bit towards me. No, too far, back. That’s it. You’ve got it. You’ve got it now. Were you actually looking at the road then? Mum?

Me:  Yes, ‘course I was, silly, you have to look at the road all the time when you’re driving

Miggins:  Not when you’re doing the music though, you don’t always then

Listening to the radio

Miggins:  Yellow car

TJ:  Yellow sign

Miggins:  Doesn’t count

TJ:  Does

Miggins:  Doesn’t

TJ:  Does

Miggins:  It’s yellow car, not yellow sign

TJ:  I’m playing yellow sign

Miggins:  Well, that’s not the game, so you can’t have a point

TJ:  Mummy? MUM? Miggins says I can’t have a point. Can I have a point? Can I?

Miggins:  Can he Mummy? Does he get a point for ‘yellow sign’? I don’t think he should get a point. I should, though. Because we were playing yellow car and we had half a point each. And then I said “yellow car” first. So I’m the winner because we’re here now and it starts again on the way home. Doesn’t it? Mum? Mummy?

TJ: Mum? Mummy? Mum?

Parking and turning off the engine

Me:  Come on, you two, let’s go, out you get, we’ll be late…