The Bumble Bee. Life Writing.

This is some life writing I did last year whilst completing A215 Creative writing with the Open university.

The Bumble Bee.

 

Is there a mystical force at work just outside my front door? I sometimes wonder. It’s the portal between reality and home and something always has to happen just as we cross its boundary. I’m suspicious when it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s a forgotten item; water bottles, coats and jumpers. Sometimes it’s the wonder of nature, the streaming rain or howling winds. Today it was a Bumble Bee, I didn’t hear the little wings flapping furiously in flight, or see its black and yellow suit of armour, but Emily did. She stood rooted to the spot, just there, at the door entrance, one foot in one foot out. Complete silence fell upon us as she stood un-moving, her arms out stretched, her face frozen into a position of fear.
‘Mum it’s a bee.’ she said, her eye’s glancing toward me.
I took a deep breath and let the front door slam shut, hoping to scare the ferocious flying insect away. I knew better than to question the where abouts of the bee, instead I repeated the same mantra I have repeated since the first day she discovered that they have a stinger attached to them.
‘It’s ok leave the bee alone and it will leave you alone.’ I said, hoping my voice was convincing enough.
We were running late and any delay would mean cancelling our quick stop of at the park. Her fear quickly thawed as the buzz became a distant hum and off we went.
I don’t like bee’s they move to fast and appear out of no where. Avoid them, that’s the advice, but how when they insist on following you? I hide my fear, or at least I try too. Emily-Rose is a naturally anxious child. She doesn’t need the burden of another persons fear on her young shoulders. So I don’t scream or wave my arms around in a frenzied attempt to avoid the bee, I simply take a deep breath and move away, whilst my thumping heart attempts to break through my rib cage.
‘Have you ever been stunged by a bee mum?’ she said.
I dread these questions. I want to tell her the truth. Nothing good ever comes from a lie, but am I just fuelling her fear? The problem with impromptu questions is you never have time to consider the right way to answer it. The swings are calling us with the schools bell echoing fast behind it, the sun is distracting and the morning rush is upon us.
‘Yes.’
And there you go the answer is out there, I know what the next question will be, am I prepared? Of course not, I’m too busy enjoying the feel of the warm rays of sun that are finally spilling across my skin.
‘Did it hurt?’
‘Yes it did.’ I said.
Her face looks a picture of horror. Her blue eyes open wide, and her jaw dropped open, I have just destroyed her world. I am mum, I am indestructible, nothing hurts me. I can see the words swimming around in her mind, if the bee sting hurt mum then what will it do to her? Its time to slow down the pace and have ourselves a serious conversation.
‘I was the same age as you. Me and my friends were playing on the big log at the far end of the school playing field when I got stung.’
‘You was just little?’
Children have such a hard time imagining their parents were ever small. They see the pictures and have heard the stories, but like ogres monsters and dragons they suspect these are just ugly rumours or amazing fairy tales, what they are not, is true. In Emily’s world, little mum is an entirely different being to who I am now, she is a small child with blue eyes and yellow hair that looks distinctively like Emily’s most recent school photo. Little mum is a world of amazing bedtime stories and soft tears in granddad’s eyes as he recalls the days gone by, little mum is photographic evidence and prove of our connection little mum is not and never will be big mum, not in Emily’s world.
‘Yep, I was just little.’
I breath deep knowing I have redeemed myself. I am once again Superwoman and nothing can hurt me. I hold her hand a little tighter, her soft fingers interlocking with mine. The sun is beating down on our backs, the birds are chirping and there is a cheerful energy all around us.
‘Did you cry mum?’
‘Yes, a little.’
Here I am again lying to her. Parents would make fantastic politicians, we seem to constantly lie, or bend the truth as a politician might say. Yes I did cry, I screamed so loud that my brother heard it from the other side of the playing field. He came charging over demanding to know who was hurting his sister. My brother had the cutest little face back then. The family blue eyes and porcelain white skin all set together with orange hair, that’s right orange. There are so many ways to describe his hair, auburn, strawberry blonde, ginger or orange. Carrot top that’s what they called him once, just once because he also had the temper to match. So standing there by the old long forgotten log at the far end of the play ground beneath the summer blue skies I screamed whilst my brother attempted to defend my honour.
‘Did it hurt a lot?’
Did it hurt a lot? An amazingly simple question that requires such a complex answer. What she is really asking is what happened next? Did an ambulance come rushing onto the school field with its red and blue lights flashing, did I lose a limb, did a war break out around me the little people versus the bees, was a potion required that could only be obtained from the highest peaks of the highest mountains. She wasn’t looking for a simple yes or no, she wanted to know everything.
‘No just a little.’
‘Did you have to go ‘ospital ?’
‘No. No hospital. They stuck an onion on it and made me sit in a classroom.’
‘An ONION, where did it stinged you?’
‘It was on my neck, but it’s all healed now’
Of course this revelation means we have to stop so she can investigate my neck. Her small hands hold back my hair and she leans in closely, other mums, dads and people with kids are having to walk around us as we kneel in the middle of the cold damp alley that leads to the school gates. The sun never reaches this far and the alley is always cold and dreary, no flowers grow here, no bees fly here.
‘Mum, if you get stinged in your belly the sting goes right through and you die.’
And there we go, her fear of the little buzzing black and yellow insect has a root cause.
‘Emily, has daddy been letting you watch futurama again?’ I know the answer is yes before she even has to speak. Mentally I am thinking of the best way to handle the situation, should I string him up first and then torture him? Or perhaps a marathon day of Barbie movies will do the trick?

Domestic goddesss

I’ve spent the morning at a friends house today helping her out with some hardcore cleaning, you see she has 3 children and a husband that is locked in the dark ages, his opinion is simple he works so why should he help with the housework. The simple truth is that it would be great if she were able to cope, but she can’t, surely a husbands job is to support his wife, the mother of his children….well apparently not. I offered my help to you (as I have done in the past) for the simple reason that as a society we seem so quick to judge a person and yet so slow to offer them support.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not perfect, I am most likely as bad as the rest at judging people with out all the facts. But I have also been in the position where I have been judged by people who should have been offering support rather than evil, vindictive words. It is for this simple reason that instead of judging I offered her help, I got nothing from it (except an achy back!!, and a lovely cup of coffee!).

Were made to believe that as a society we have progressed, left behind us the days of old where women were seen as second class citizens, and marriages now offer equality….but do they really?

Too many of my female friends seem to pamper to the needs of the men in their lives, from allowing themselves to cry because the man has said the home is a mess, the dinners burnt, my washing isn’t clean through to arranging all of their free time around their mans schedule….so where is the equality?

And yet at the same time it makes me wonder would my own marriage be more harmonious if instead of leaving my husbands work clothes to fester in a pile because he hasn’t put them into the washing basket, I just simply did it, perhaps if i were to wear a little french maids outfit and be the perfect house wife…would our marriage be a happy equal affair, more importantly would I be happy in that role, domestic servant at your ready? Or perhaps I should never have said, if you don’t like how I do it, do it yourself!

You see when I married my husband it was for love, I became his wife, not his cleaner, or cook, just simply his wife. The same goes for when I had our child, I became a mum, a stay at home mum, and so yes I do the housework, but I expect my husband to help out (which he is not great at!!). Yet we automatically assume a stay at home mum to be a ‘housewife’, im not a housewife, im a bloody excellent mum my ability to clean the house and have everything in perfect order, does not even come close to having anything to do with my abilities as a mum.

So why do we judge so quickly, my friend today needed help, not because she can’t cope, but because she has a husband that secretly yearns to wear a caveman outfit. Of course my advice to her was cut of all sex till the man gets of his arse, but the reality we have it so ingrained into us that a harmonious household means meeting the needs of the man, that she will never stand up to him and he will never change….and thats great if it works for them.

So my question to the universe is this…does being a domestic goddess, that pampers to her mans every need that struggles on without support, that puts the needs of others (adults) before there own make for a perfect harmonious marriage?

Aside

Decided I had b…

Decided I had better update my Blog seeing as it is supposed to be an exercise in disciplining myself to write regularly. The problem with this, is that I am not a disciplined person, routine simply leaves me feeling bored and discouraged. Whilst I sit here, I can think of at least a thousand different, and far more exciting things that I would like to be doing. Of course having typed that last sentence I was instantly thrown into the most amazing day dreams of where I could be if I wasn’t here. So it seems only fair that I share my favourite day dream destination of the day…

The Eden Project   ( http://www.edenproject.com/ ) it would be so perfect on a day like today, i’ve never been there, but would so love to go.  Of course I would want to go there alone, my husband would hate it and would be beyond bored within seconds of arriving, my daughter however would absolutely love it, but her endless questions would drive me crazy. It is one of the few places I would love to explore alone, if only once, or at least with someone that didn’t moan constantly. I want to explore the vibrant colors, the many different scents that fill the air, the shapes. I simply want to sit amongst so much nature that I am able to forget about the world. There is of course a problem to my day dream, and that is I hate Bees and wasps, and i think i can safely assume that The Eden Project loves at the very least Bees…

Anyway back to reality, time is ticking by, and the school run will be upon me shortly, The Eden project will have to wait, for now I have my lovely Garden, with my lovely sunflowers…and not too many Bees.