What's in a Name?

We in the nest are experiencing one of those happy flurries of matching and hatching amongst some of our dear friends. This has led to conversations revolving around the meaning of baby names, whether a woman should take her prospective husband's name, and whether a child should have a double barrelled name, so both parents' families are represented.

Whilst it is a delight to be joyful and celebrate with friends who are celebrating, I suppose it is natural that these conversations strike an uncomfortable chord within me as I battle to come to terms with my situation and life how it is going to look. The main issue being that my names don't seem to fit any more.

My surname, F_. A beautiful and eagerly anticipated gift, given to me by my husband, now feels redundant. A mockery, and a constant reminder that I no longer stand beside him, but torn apart from him. My name - a scar and a battle wound that is so fragile that it still tears a little when touched upon.

I cannot go back to my maiden name. This would be a backwards step, and a regression tying me to a past life that bears little relation to my present life, and this decision would mark me out as different from my beautiful boys.

My title 'Mrs' is equally painful, but no more painful than it's successor, 'Ms', which for me feels bland and beige compared to the richness and deliciousness of being someone's wife, and wearing the title Mrs as a badge of honour.

The name I go by to my friends, 'Nic', doesn't fit either. It is a most peculiar thing, but I feel like I have grown out of it. Like in the Bible, when Noami changed her name to 'Mara', meaning bitter; I feel like there has to be a shift for me. That 'Nic' is too carefree and youthful, 'Nicola' - previously used as 'Sunday best' or when I was 'in trouble' suiting better now, and represets the almighty shift in my life and experience.

'Dancingnic', my tag in blogland and facebook world has gone and I don't think she will ever come back.

BUT there is hope. There are names for me that I cling to and claim with pride! These names representing where I am now, and WHO I am now, and who I can continue to be: names that fill me with joy and pleasure and comfort on the darkest of days (which, thankfully are fewer and further between).

MUMMY!

- to the precious and beautiful and entertaining JSF and Jamesy bean. Without these two little sleep thieves I would be lost. Probably under my duvet. Probably with a box of wine. I am so thankful for the laughter and joy and hope that they give me, and I claim the name MUMMY with absolute pride and delight.

FRIEND!

- I have been blessed with friends who have been faithful and loving and gentle. Friends who have cooked meals, who have offered a hug and a cuppa, provided babysitting services, organised nights out, provoked deep belly laughing (the likes of which I never thought I would experience again) and friends who have quietly and stoically walked beside me and loved me and my boys.

Even better, there are a small number of precious, precious friends who make my heart burst with joy, simply because they want to know me and spend time with me, and let me know and spend time with them. Their friendship has worked a healing in me, and without them, I would be still in the fog.

I do not deserve these friends. And as I come up for air after the last two years, I look forward to BEING a friend again.

MUNRO BAGGER!

- 18 munros in 3 months isn't bad, eh? Only 263 to go. I am, unashamedly, 'A Bagger', and I claim this name with great satisfaction when in the company of hill walkers and non hillwalkers alike. I'm not even completely sure how this started. A wonderful and exhilarating new hobby, with clear targets, and smashing company in the form of my walking club buddies! There is no where I feel more free than up a hill, and if I am honest, when I climb, the headache which is my constant companion lifts, and i feel like I could sing with delight!

and it doesn't end here! I can claim DAUGHTER, SISTER, MUSICIAN, CRAFTSWOMAN, BUSINESS WOMAN, and the title of this blog:

ASPIRING WONDER WOMAN!!!

she is a little bewildered, but she is not lost. I claim this name, and I continue with my aspiration.

A beautiful poet El Gruer has written a series of poems that you should check out, and if I may quote her here: watch this aspiring wonderwoman turn her brokenness into a BATTLE CRY!!!

MUSICIAN!

Deconstruction

This evening I spent dividing books into three piles:

Those that are mine.

Those that are his.

Those that are memories of shared summers, and late night debates, and chapters read aloud in front of the fire; wine rings on the cover and pages smudged with suncream.

I feel as though my heart is breaking all over again.

Heavy

That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,

as well as my friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel
(brave even among lions),
"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it's all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not
put it down."
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How long I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?

Mary Oliver
Thirst
Beacon Press, Boston.
1996: 53

This week, it happens in the nest; the fledglings love their poetry best ...

It is not often that I feel compelled to censor the sleep thieves ever growing library. However, after one two many readings of one particular Christmas annual (rather badly written, and full of mistakes), the offending book became tragically 'lost' behind the sofa, allowing curly tailed offendors to be replaced by this:

Culture!!!

Well, almost.

The sleep thieves have been delighted by tales of little girls falling into jam, dancing sausages, and singing kettles. I am delighted in equal measure, and have been taking nostalgic trips back to poems I read as a child - The Land of Counterpane, Jabberwocky and even Kubla Khan!

Inspired by my boys, I have been spending evenings post sleep thief with Mary Oliver, whom I would wholeheartedly recommend.

Tonight, poetry readings will be susbtituted by a glass of the house red ... and Casualty on catch up tv ... well it wouldn't do to get too cultured ...

Love is ...

... two sleepy little arms reaching up from a sweaty - haired sleep, to enjoy the first cuddle of the day

...one little sleep thief donating a favourite train to the other's railway

... a special card, handmade at nursery - a festival of red glitter and cut out hearts

... an exuberent cuddle, expressing unwavering trust

...a cheeky smile and a nose presented for wiping

... a perpetual weetabix / soup / yoghurt stain on my shoulder

... 'ba ba' the dolly clutched under one arm and 'mouse' under the other - to be put down only in the event of food, bath or apocalypse

... bedtime stories by torchlight in the wendy house

Follow the Heron Home

This week I have seen: blue sky, temperatures above zero, daylight at tea time, the tips of this years daffodil display in the garden, my beautiful and wonderful children (aka the sleep thieves) playing OUTSIDE and shoots on the raspberry canes I thought I had lost to the winter frosts.

This week I have glimpsed hope and new life.

Karine Polwart has been the soundtrack in my head, and I have caught myself humming lines from this beautiful and haunting melody on more than one occasion:

The back of the winter has broken, and light lingers long by the door...

... the story of my garden and the story of my wee world, changed dramatically in the last year. But this 'aspiring' wonder woman is ready for the new season. Perhaps one day I'll be an 'actual' wonder woman ...