Today
Of course baby clothes aren't the only subject of conversation; there is also the question of baby names. Becky and Richard have two lists (strictly confidential) set up on their I-pads. They range from the hilarious to the dull and I'm sure they'll come up with the perfect name. Of course, with modern scans, they'll be able to ditch one list entirely in a week or two.
In My Day
Naming the baby is always a matter for debate, unless you are just repeating mother or father's names. When we were expecting Lizzie, the sex of the baby wouldn't be known until the birth so we had to keep both lists open.
I had long thought that Elizabeth is the loveliest girl's name, so there was no discussion there. For some time we used to fantasise about having five girls, Bennett-fashion, and I had names for them all, How strange it is that I can now only remember three: eldest Elizabeth, next Rebecca, youngest Selena.
Boy's names seemed altogether more full of pitfalls. We had thought of Geoffrey after a family friend of Paul's "Uncle Geoffrey", but any other names produced the following type of response: "Timothy! Oh no; we had one at school and he was such a bully, Sebastian - that's so effeminate, Richard, heavens no, it'll be abbreviated to Dick." There didn't seem to be name in the entire male lexicon that didn't carry some unfortunate association. I also had difficulty envisaging myself with a boy so was little help in these one-sided discussions.
Then there was the whole question of second names, Here Paul showed himself adept at choosing elegant combinations: Elizabeth Alice and, later, Rebecca Louise.
It's easy to feel bullied by other people's opinions and Rebecca and Richard are probably right to keep their ideas to themselves for the time being. They don't seem to have a predilection for the absurd, and I feel sure that they'll steer clear from offending anybody.
I know that I will love Baby Donnelly, whatever the name (though I might have difficulty getting used to "Bugless" or "Isembard").
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Suited and Bootee'ed
Today
Becky is visiting this weekend and the talk turned, not surprisingly, to the subject of baby clothes. Her mother in law, Poppy, likes to knit; I like to sew, so between us we have it covered.
In My Day
When Lizzie was born, back in 1972 we were given some knitted gifts; two beautiful receiving blankets knitted by my Italian sister-in-law's mother and a floor blanket made by Mamma. Paul's sister had knitted two pairs of white leggings for Lizzie. "Just the job," I thought "with winter coming on and all."
"I washed them very carefully," Mum said as he handed me the package. Well, either she hadn't been careful enough or Jenny's tension was all over the shop. These leggings would have been loose on a six-year old.
I thanked Jenny and put the leggings away, wondering what to do with them, but feeling that it would be rude just to chuck them out.
Lizzie's cousin Katherine was born six months later with a congenital deformity in her hips. When she was about nine months old the decision was made to operate on the hips. Her little legs were plastered and splinted at a 180 degree angle, knees bent.
"She doesn't seem bothered by it,"said Chris "but it's winter and we have no idea what to dress her in." "Ah!" I said "I have the perfect thing!" Out came the leggings which stretched easily over Katherine's splayed and plastered legs. She wore these until the plasters came off, round about her birthday, by which time they were completely worn out and had given sterling service.
I don't think that leggings will be needed, Poppy, but if Becky and Richard's baby isn't the best dressed in Wandsworth, it won't be for want of trying. And I still have the blankets, after forty years and will shortly be resurrecting them for Baby Donnelly.
Becky is visiting this weekend and the talk turned, not surprisingly, to the subject of baby clothes. Her mother in law, Poppy, likes to knit; I like to sew, so between us we have it covered.
In My Day
When Lizzie was born, back in 1972 we were given some knitted gifts; two beautiful receiving blankets knitted by my Italian sister-in-law's mother and a floor blanket made by Mamma. Paul's sister had knitted two pairs of white leggings for Lizzie. "Just the job," I thought "with winter coming on and all."
"I washed them very carefully," Mum said as he handed me the package. Well, either she hadn't been careful enough or Jenny's tension was all over the shop. These leggings would have been loose on a six-year old.
I thanked Jenny and put the leggings away, wondering what to do with them, but feeling that it would be rude just to chuck them out.
Lizzie's cousin Katherine was born six months later with a congenital deformity in her hips. When she was about nine months old the decision was made to operate on the hips. Her little legs were plastered and splinted at a 180 degree angle, knees bent.
"She doesn't seem bothered by it,"said Chris "but it's winter and we have no idea what to dress her in." "Ah!" I said "I have the perfect thing!" Out came the leggings which stretched easily over Katherine's splayed and plastered legs. She wore these until the plasters came off, round about her birthday, by which time they were completely worn out and had given sterling service.
I don't think that leggings will be needed, Poppy, but if Becky and Richard's baby isn't the best dressed in Wandsworth, it won't be for want of trying. And I still have the blankets, after forty years and will shortly be resurrecting them for Baby Donnelly.
Friday, March 08, 2013
Second Best
Today
Last week my brother's mother-in-law died. She was ninety and had managed to live independently with her brother until a stroke carried her off rapidly.
I have many memories of Peggy who was an ever-smiling presence at many family events.
The family conducted the funeral service entirely themselves: Joan conducting the proceedings, David giving the address, Matthew leading prayers and another granddaughter giving the reading.
I spoke to Joan afterwards, "Well done - that can't have been easy." "Was it all right?" she asked anxiously "We couldn't get anyone so did it ourselves. Did it matter, having second-best?" "Second best!" I exclaimed "It was how it should be, the family saying goodbye."
In My Day
This made me think of the funeral of Paul's Auntie Joyce in 2005. She had led a grim life, starting with having her left-handedness beaten out of her at school which left her withdrawn and with a persistent stammer. She was married to abusive and drunken husbands. Her son had to be snatched away from the beatings given him by his stepfather and Paul's Mum cared for him on more than one occasion. Finally, totally adrift, she was admitted to care when she was fifty-nine and slowly dissolved into dementia. Her own children paid her less and less attention and she didn't see her grandchildren or great-grandchildren.
So when the funeral came round we went along in some anxiety, wondering who would be there and how the service would be conducted.
Although Joyce's son had refused to attend, her daughter was there and clearly in the role of host. We sat down to the service. The official began his address:
"There's no point in celebrating the life of Joyce," he said "there's not a lot to celebrate; she had a rough deal for most of her time. Instead I would like us to use this as an opportunity to learn about forgiveness; for Joyce's children to forgive her any wrong they may have felt she did them and for the rest of you to forgive those children for what you saw as neglect and to welcome them back fully into the family."
The daughter sat with the tears streaming and we all felt a lessening of a family burden. And Joyce, in death, had become a force for good as she had unable to be in her life.
I felt touched and impressed with the honesty and humanity of the officiating priest so that Joyce's funeral was as far from second-best as possible.
But, if, when I die, I have half as lovingly a delivered service as Peggy, I shall feel first-class.
Last week my brother's mother-in-law died. She was ninety and had managed to live independently with her brother until a stroke carried her off rapidly.
I have many memories of Peggy who was an ever-smiling presence at many family events.
The family conducted the funeral service entirely themselves: Joan conducting the proceedings, David giving the address, Matthew leading prayers and another granddaughter giving the reading.
I spoke to Joan afterwards, "Well done - that can't have been easy." "Was it all right?" she asked anxiously "We couldn't get anyone so did it ourselves. Did it matter, having second-best?" "Second best!" I exclaimed "It was how it should be, the family saying goodbye."
In My Day
This made me think of the funeral of Paul's Auntie Joyce in 2005. She had led a grim life, starting with having her left-handedness beaten out of her at school which left her withdrawn and with a persistent stammer. She was married to abusive and drunken husbands. Her son had to be snatched away from the beatings given him by his stepfather and Paul's Mum cared for him on more than one occasion. Finally, totally adrift, she was admitted to care when she was fifty-nine and slowly dissolved into dementia. Her own children paid her less and less attention and she didn't see her grandchildren or great-grandchildren.
So when the funeral came round we went along in some anxiety, wondering who would be there and how the service would be conducted.
Although Joyce's son had refused to attend, her daughter was there and clearly in the role of host. We sat down to the service. The official began his address:
"There's no point in celebrating the life of Joyce," he said "there's not a lot to celebrate; she had a rough deal for most of her time. Instead I would like us to use this as an opportunity to learn about forgiveness; for Joyce's children to forgive her any wrong they may have felt she did them and for the rest of you to forgive those children for what you saw as neglect and to welcome them back fully into the family."
The daughter sat with the tears streaming and we all felt a lessening of a family burden. And Joyce, in death, had become a force for good as she had unable to be in her life.
I felt touched and impressed with the honesty and humanity of the officiating priest so that Joyce's funeral was as far from second-best as possible.
But, if, when I die, I have half as lovingly a delivered service as Peggy, I shall feel first-class.
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