Peonies and Polaroids

lessons in humility, acceptance and not being a moron

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Thu, 24 May 2012 11:31:00 +0000

Yesterday at dinner time we decided to go camping. Spontaneously! With twins! Never mind our carefully constructed routine or the fact that the girls had already had a wildly exciting day and hadn't napped or that it was dinner time or that we have 18 month old toddlers who have never been camping or that the campsite was an hour's drive away and it was rush hour or that it was just a stupid idea, we were being spontaneous!

Summer arrived in the UK yesterday. More dramatically still, summer arrived in Glasgow. I can't tell you how long it's been since we had summer, roughly 3 years maybe? And I can't tell you how much we have missed camping, it's something that we love and that we couldn't wait to do with the girls. Never mind people's raised eyebrows, we were going to be Cool Family That Doesn't Bat An Eyelid at Camping With Toddlers. Spontaneously.

Well we hadn't reckoned on Amelia. Which was silly, as we've had 18 months to come to terms with Amelia, 18 months which has mostly been spent figuring out what she needs to happen for her to go to sleep at night. What she needs does not include a spontaneous camping trip that starts at dinner time. Girl LOVED the campsite, LOVED the tent, LOVED the food and the wild and the trees and the horses and the wigwams at the campsite. Girl loved them so much that there was no way in hell she was ever ever going to go to sleep despite the fact that she was falling flat on her face with tiredness. We thought that eventually, when she was tired enough, she would join the rest of us in our cosy pile of limbs and sleeping bags (Ella, after ten minutes of trying out different corners of the tent, settled happily in her daddy's armpit and started nodding off to sleep.) But an hour later she was not only ricocheting off the sides of the tent, she was screaming too. Which kind of sucked for the other campers who had travelled from Belgium and America to walk the West Highland Way and were getting up in the morning to continue their 96 mile trek.

So we packed up and came home. Which was embarrassing. I'd thought that we were so damn cool, camping with our kiddos, we were one of those families who other families admire and think 'wow, they're so carefree, they haven't let having kids stop them from having adventures'. In other words I was a smug, self-congratulating moron.

The thing is, I've never once felt like we have let having kids stop us from having adventures, I had just become fixated on the idea that camping had to be one of them. Camping was my status adventure, the one I would take beautiful pictures of and blog about and bask in the congratulations of my readers for being So Cool (I know, I know, I hate myself too).

Despite the embarrassment of packing up and coming home I'm actually really glad that we went, for a few reasons. One, until we tried to go to sleep we had so much fun, in fact I don't think that the girls have ever had more fun in their lives. Watching them rampaging and exploring was one of my happiest moments as a parent. Oh and Ella called out for Ammie when she couldn't see her around the side of the tent, 'Me Moo? Meeee Moo?' and my heart exploded with love. Two, we realllllllly needed to break out of our routine, do something that was neither work or agonising over selling our house, which is pretty much all we've done for a month. But thirdly, and most importantly, I learnt some lessons in humility (see above) and acceptance. Accepting that one of our children just doesn't deal with huge amounts of change and excitement as well as I might like and that it's our responsibility to look out for her and not to throw her things she can't deal with just because we think that if they worked out they would be really fun. I've always thought that we had accepted that Amelia is just slightly harder work than Ella (most of the time, Ella has her moments, her 'exorcist moments' as I like to think of them) but I feel like yesterday was one of those eye-opening moments when you realise that you still had a little way to go before you were quite the person/parent/whatever that you wanted to be and that you might have just made it a step closer. Which is kind of cool.

(our camping bible - maybe this face should have been a warning - rocking the neon trend - exploring - the builder - "hullo, buh bye" - 10pm, an escapee - Going Home.)

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Tue, 22 May 2012 12:30:00 +0000

you know that thing I said about "maybe it's not so bad if I'm not certain about everything"? It was a pile of arse.

that's all.

source .soma gallery

in Wigan.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Tue, 15 May 2012 09:00:00 +0000

As 'moving to London' becomes less something that we talk about doing in the future and more something that looks like it might actually happen, the urgency with which I feel like I'm going to vomit right into my lap increases drastically.

Don't get me wrong, we still haven't sold our flat and we haven't started looking for houses in London, and since that one day when we announced that we were planning on moving we have done absolutely nothing to try and secure work. But it's looking more like it's something that is going to happen, and within the next year, and ohmygod I'm going to throw up. The thing is, I feel sort of paralysed. Somewhere between the life I've spent 5 years building and the life we talk and dream about for our future and somewhere there, half way between Glasgow and London (Wigan?) there's me, curled in to the foetal position pretending it's all not happening while spectres of mortgage lenders and the frankly terrifying business competition in London delightedly jab me with their fingers and whisper gleeful promises of failure in my ear.

Call it fear or pessimism or denial but I feel exactly like I did when I was 37 weeks pregnant, that nothing is ever ever going to change, I'm going have two people inside me and need to pee six times a minute FOREVER. I can picture the future with our dog and our garden and our beautiful London clients and I'm more or less present in the life we live just now (which make no mistake, is pretty amazing) but when I try to picture actually making the change? Wigan.

I'm working on leaving, no one wants to spend too long in Wigan (joking, I've never been, it might be lovely.) but I'm also trying to accept that this huge chasm of uncertainty between making a decision and actually being able to make it happen is just a fact of life and one that I need to embrace, not fight. Maybe it's not the end of the world if I'm not certain all of the time?

* IMAGE BY JENNIFER TRAN www.jennifer-tran.com

my pretties.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Thu, 10 May 2012 09:02:00 +0000

I don't wear a lot of jewellery, more than I used to but not a lot. For a long time I just couldn't be bothered, which evolved into 'babies, everywhere, pulling at my face' and now has finally settled into the wearing of a couple of small, really simple things which I love but which mostly (but not all) cost 20 pence and so are now disintegrating. The handful of things that I wear are as follows:

my wedding ring
-$10, etsy.

conical stud earrings in gold (the kind of gold that chips off) and in pewter - £6 for three, topshop

studs that look like pearls from afar but are actually brushed silver (a present, about £25. Pricy.)

gold triangle earrings
- $30 etsy

a black friendship bracelet with silver beads which was a gift from a bestie. I'm terrified that the string is going to wear through like the one I gave her in return did so I only wear it when I need to channel her badassery to get through the day. It's my equivalent of strapping on a pair. It was about $30 from Catbird.

There's a theme; simple and Not Expensive. While the thought of wearing jewellery that is Expensive thrills me (I've been known to drag Nye down Bond Street, looking at £500,000 rings with my nose pressed up against the windows while he glares around with contempt muttering 'this is revolting, I can't believe you made me come here. Hey, that's Chris Eubank.) actually wearing anything that cost more than 30 quid would probably make me nauseus. So I should probably stop looking at these beauties from Mociun, for although they are (perfectly) simple they are Not Cheap and therefore Not For Me. But how I would love to replace my crappy, flaking gold studs with Mociun's exact copy (times $100) in gold which I'm pretty sure wouldn't peel off.

all images from Modicun.

love.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Wed, 09 May 2012 10:16:00 +0000

It's taken a while but I'm finally, well and truly, in love with Beyonce. Did you see the dress she wore to the Met Gala? God, that's one sexy woman. I love that she radiates an air of couldn't-give-a-fuck-what-you-think, while also appearing wholly dignified. I like that in a person.

* photo from this wedding. Yes, I'm the wedding photographer who will stand in front on MTV for 5 minutes waiting for the right moment to photograph Beyonce shaking her ass behind you. I'm also the wedding photographer who will put down her cameras during the reception to dance to Single Ladies with your two-year-old niece. Just so you know.

February, bits and pieces.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Tue, 08 May 2012 18:35:00 +0000

alligator, buffalo, caterpillar...

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

It's not something that people tell you but kids mostly don't care about toys. Not as babies anyway. They've been into books for a while but that was about it. A couple of months ago they started (very occasionally) giving a cuddly toy a quick squeeze before hurling it across the floor. Over the last few weeks they've got really into playing with a ball and we can get a pretty excellent game of 2-a-side football going these days but mostly the things that they really like playing with aren't toys at all; fridge magnets, tea bags, remote controls, usb cables, pine cones.

Except. These animal cards that we were given by one of our best ladies. The girls LOVE them. (They love Rooster so much that they ate him). For ages we were kind of precious about them, trying to stop the girls from sitting on them and squashing them a little in their enthusiasm but then we just let it go, sat back and enjoyed watching them have an absolute ball with what has to be one of their favourite presents ever.

(we get their pyjamas on ebay where they're ridiculously cheap. We would never ever dress them this pinkly if we were leaving the house. Just so you know.)

two years ago today.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 08:00:00 +0000

Looking back at the photos all I can remember about this day two years ago is that Nye and I had a huge fight about turtle sex in the middle of Central Park. And that I felt so sick. I was 10 weeks pregnant.

January, bits and pieces

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 12:39:00 +0000

january, my birthday, 27, a subscription

new bicycle

a friend who sends jam is the best kind of friend

inaugural voyage

The cake shop, closed, on my birthday. It was the saddest thing.

purging.

Our book keeping. Whoops.

so pretty, so utterly useless.

she snores.

The London Coffee Festival

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 08:40:00 +0000

It's probably for the best that we're not living in London yet. This looks incredibly amazing/lethal.

*images via The London Coffee Festival.

French Children Probably Throw Food, Sometimes.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 14:39:00 +0000

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I don't think I know of any parent who wouldn't benefit, even just a little, from reading this book (this book in America).

It's fascinating from an anthropology point of view (I think that it might even be interesting to the No Babeeez crowd, but I could be wrong) but also hugely inspiring as a parent.

I've read a lot of reviews, quite a number from people who haven't actually read the book, and they seem to fall into three camps: 'well, this seems very sensible' from people who don't have children and from people who do have children: 'yes, this is how we do it' from people who do have children (colour me sceptical) or (and this is mostly from Americans) 'how dare the French tell us how to raise our kids?'.

Personally I don't understand the vitriol, but then I'm quite willing to contemplate the idea that I don't have a clue what I'm doing when it comes to parenting and admit that I don't have a plan, I'm just making it up as I go along. I can understand that people who do have a plan might not like being told that they're wrong.

But that's the thing, the book doesn't tell you to do anything, it's just one woman's experience of being an American raising her kids in Paris and trying to figure out why her kids and the other English-speaking kids she knows don't behave like French ones. She's not a Francophile, in fact she seems distinctly unsettled by the notion of her daughter 'growing up French', which is why the blanket reaction of 'I'm not reading that book. The French smoke too much and they spank their kids, why should I listen to anything they have to say about parenting?' is a little puzzling, the French aren't telling you to do anything, they're too busy being French to give a damn what anyone else is doing. (FYI, I've never seen a French kid being smacked and I've never seen a French parent smoking while looking after their kids. I predict we'll be spending a lot of time in French playgrounds in the future and I'm pretty excited about observing and taking notes. No, really.)

I'm not going to tell you what I learned from it or in what ways it changed how Nye and I parent* I'm just going to ask that you think about reading it. I don't think it's too dramatic to say that I found it a game-changer.

I would be really interested to hear what you thought of the book if you've read it, what you think about it if you haven't read it and why you think people are so resistant to it.

*Not in this post anyway. Depending on how the comments go I might write a follow up post in the future. and to talk about what I thought in more detail in the comments though.

great mysteries.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 07:17:00 +0000

Marks and Spencer. They can create a foam pig that is more addictive than crack cocaine but they can't design a plastic bag that doesn't spew edamame beans everywhere.

scrounging.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 09:39:00 +0000

it's pretty cool having a florist for a bestie. We didn't have to pay for any of these babies.

(and these ones did not smell like a weed farm, which was nice.)

(the skyline print is by Sheepshead Design. We bought it in New York and squeezed it into our hand luggage to take home. It's one of my favourite things in our house.)

Shhh.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 09:27:00 +0000

A lot of the time I'm not really that big on talking (I have two kids, they're loud, I'm tired, my brain hurts, shhhhhh.) But mostly I understand that other people like to talk and that I'm the weirdo here so I do my best to play along. However. There are three situations in which I'm pretty certain that it's not okay to talk to me, like ever;

1. during the cinema
2. while I'm on the toilet
3. when I'm reading a menu.

Non-negotiable, don't do it, I won't forgive you.

I'm aware that I'm a grumpy arse but these seem reasonable to me, right? Have I missed any other truly non-negotiable no-chat situations?

*Russian 'FFS, stop blabbing our secrets to the enemy ' poster.

Edinburgh, November.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

Nye: 'Bloody hell, Edinburgh's so cold.'

Cara: 'Yeah, and the weather sucks too. Badaboom!'

Every time. (yes, I actually say 'badaboom'. What? I'm cool.) Being rude about Edinburgh and how unfriendly it is (not universally, just mostly) never gets old. But it's okay, I'm allowed to be rude about Edinburgh because truly, deep deep down, I love it. It's my home, the one place that I feel unerringly safe and protected and.... home. I went to primary school and university in Edinburgh, it was the place of my childhood and my first independence and I love it. But it's freezing and when you hold the door open for people they look at you like you're about to steal their handbag. Aside from that, I love it.

There is a route I used to walk in Edinburgh, from our flat in the south side, when I felt anxious (which was a lot in those days, art school's a bitch) that took me around my favourite places. By the end of the day I was exhausted/calm and ready to go home again. I've been in Glasgow for five years and I've never found anywhere here that does that for me.

Whenever Nye and I are in Edinburgh I try to arrange it so that we take in one or other of those places. The most child-friendly of them is the National Museum of Scotland. It's somewhere that I've loved since I was little, somewhere I've loved for twenty years, somewhere that I would willingly spend a whole day, just walking and looking and sitting and leave feeling completely relaxed. (Maybe it's all the death? Dead things comfort me. An aside: once the art college took us to the Anatomical Museum at the medical school for a drawing trip. Most people were creeped out by the human heads and stuff but I found it kind of reassuring, like 'look how relaxed they look! One day this shit will be over.' Like I said, art school was a dark time.) It's been almost completely overhauled since my day and for purely sentimental reasons I kind of miss the moth-eaten, Victorian exhibits. The new ones are amazing though, the whole place is beautiful.

All of that was to say: we went to Edinburgh in November, we took the girls, we went to the museum and some other places I love, it was really nice. We went to the museum again last week, before a wedding we had in Edinburgh, all of our weddings should start with a trip to the museum.

scenes from a marriage, cont.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

(or: 'conversations that seem perfectly normal if you spend a lot of time with toddlers. Not so much if you don't'.)

'Nye, will you smell my leg and tell me if it smells like poo?'

'do I have to?'

'yes'

For those of you who were following the trouser drama on twitter, yes I wore them, and yes, they did smell like poo. But only if you stuck your nose right up in my crotch and that's something I try to avoid with clients, even the nicest ones.

*image by Kate

chalkboards. YES, chalkboards.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 09:40:00 +0000

Yeah yeah, we're all so over chalkboards. Whatever.

1. Miss Pickering

2. Shanna Murray

3. Typetoken

balloons are so not over.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 08:00:00 +0000

Last month we did a photoshoot styled by an event planner (Jillian, American, adorbs, hire her). It was a total departure from what we usually do (moments, emotions, stories) and kind of chaos with two small (hilarious) models, but we had a blast and our small hilarious models couldn't possibly have enjoyed themselves more: Flowers! Mud! OH MY GOD, A BALLOON!

Needless to say, these aren't the official photos, the official photos are going to appear on an official blog, one that doesn't talk about poo and stuff. These are the behind the scenes photos and personally I think they're spectacular.

MINE!

"I SAID, balloons are so not over. OKAY?"

an update on that whole anxiety thing.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 14:27:00 +0000

I really suck at updating you guys on stuff, just ask anyone who's waiting for those posts I said I was going to write about IVF and childbirth (in brief, neither as bad as I was led to believe, one even positively joyful) but I'm trying to be less of a jerk so I thought I would let you know how I'm doing.

I'm doing good. The anxiety is gone, I'm only mildly emotionally irrational and I'm functioning as normal again. I'm not entirely sure why, several things happened at once: my mum arrived with a selection of homoeopathic and herbal treatments, March ended and a couple of days later so did the anxiety. It turned into hopeless sobbing for a few days and then that passed too. I'm still not exactly exuberant but I'm good and that in itself is a blessed relief. I also let go of the house selling/moving thing and stopped looking at houses for sale in London. It will happen when it happens and in the meantime we have a really nice house to life in that doesn't need rewired or re-plumbed or re-anythinged. And more likely still, I took the PMS thing seriously. I mean, it's not exactly news that my hormones are insane and this is the first time in almost a decade that I haven't been on some sort of hormone suppressant to try and control my endometriosis, and so the chances that they're a bit out of whack and making me feel kind of crazy seems relatively high. Determined to try and treat it naturally before going back on any sort of medications I started taking the vitamins and minerals that I used to take before I got pregnant and that I've delighted in being lax about since then because I'm better now and don't need them (ha!)

Anyway, that's where I am for now. I figure exuberance will come, in time.

Oh, and the coffee thing. I'm back to one, weak, cup a day and you're right, I should give it up and see what happens. But I don't want to.

*image by Anahata Katkin

apparently it's some sort of holiday.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 08:57:00 +0000

Apparently it's easter. I had no idea. I mean, I knew it was in April sometime that that this is April (thank God) but I couldn't have put a date on it, it's one of the joys of being self-employed; there are no public holidays. Have a nice Easter, if that's something you do. See you next week.

*Sir Hopsalot (the new love of my life), on etsy, by Forest Blue.

Hugh Fernley Weddingstall.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 06:00:00 +0000

Guys, did you know that you can get married at River Cottage? And have Hugh Fernley Wittingstall cater your wedding? River Cottage. Fernley.

Amazing.

(I'm aware that this will mean absolutely nothing to you if you don't live in the UK, but trust me, it's a big deal to a British eco foodie type.)

*Image from a spectacular River Cottage wedding, by Aneta Mak via Reverie magazine.

corners.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

We finally finished our house. If you've been reading for a long time then you might remember our no hot water/no heating/no ceiling phases which lasted longer than anyone would care for. But it's finally finished and ready for someone to buy please.

I'm better at little corners than whole rooms. Whole rooms intimidate me. Whenever I've moved house I've always packed one box with my favourite pretty things and as soon as I've arrived I've unpacked that box into a small corner somewhere and been home. One day I'll master whole rooms but in the meantime here some of the small corners.

Notes.

photo 2: Did anyone else buy Nova when it was relaunched? I loved that magazine and it seemed like a not-so-small miracle that it appeared in our local shop on our little island where you couldn't get your Sunday papers until Monday morning every month. Until it didn't and I cried real tears. I was 16 when Nova came out for the second time, I'm pretty sure it changed my life.
Operation Alphabet is an amazing kids book that its very kind authors sent me to review. I haven't done it yet because whenever I get it out to photograph W&P are ALL OVER it and it's a disaster, but lemme tell you, it's gorgeous and if you're looking for a kiddy book for slightly older kiddies, you should buy it.

photo 4: Do you like my red anglepoise lamp? TK Maxx baby! £14!

photo 11: I don't wear Coco Mademoiselle. I was given it 12 years ago and I kept it because the bottle made me feel all fancy. So if you're imagining me smelling like that then stop. I smell like damp laundry. Sexay.

bye bye summer.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 08:30:00 +0000

It was warm. For five whole days. I got sunburned.

It was the longest summer I remember in Scotland.

It went to my head and I forgot to focus.

he loved it so much he ate it.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 09:57:00 +0000

This made my week. It's been a while since I loved something so much that I ate it. If we don't count cake.

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

― Maurice Sendak via Shaun Usher.

* vintage image, source unknown.

.

noreply@blogger.com (cara) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 13:45:00 +0000

Thank you all so much for your comments on yesterday's post, they helped a lot (blogger won't let me reply to them, because it's an arse). I went to the doctor this morning, she diagnosed pre-menstrual syndrome and prescribed me.... a leaflet. I love my doctor so I'm not going to bitch about how that Really Wasn't Helpful.

It's a good job this was waiting for me when I got home.

Happy weekend.

(it's beetroot salad, not blood.)