Helping children with no shoes

A month or so ago I was doing my normal thing of cooking dinner whilst watching BBC iplayer on my phone when Alby came in.  There is no hiding the telly from this boy – as he once told me “the telly is my best friend”, and neither wishing to turn it off nor make for a grumpy Alby I pulled up his chair and we watched together.

George's first race

I was watching the Great British Bake Off for Sport Relief and chuckling away at the inept skills of a random mix of non-sporting celebrity bakers when they paused the kitchen fun for some harrowing scenes of underprivileged children, this time in Kenya.  The film followed the life of a street boy and when it ended Alby turned to me and said “mummy, did you know there are some children who don’t even have shoes to wear.”  A statement which came with many hand gestures and therefore I knew was serious.  And so, Alby and I decided to do something about it.  Twenty emails later and the Little Legs two mile run / cycle / walk in Richmond Park was on.

Official Richmond Park pace maker

And it was bloody brilliant if I do say so myself.  Alby and I had been fundraising at his nursery all week via a bake sale (cupcake, fudge brownie bite, chocolate chip cookie, rice crispy cake or cup of jelly anyone??) All that late night weighing, mixing and mess making paid off with over £80 being raised in just three days which I think is pretty impressive and combined with their online efforts our cute little ones pulled in just over £300 of sponsorship – go them!

Tree climbing pit stop 

We were joined by Family Kitchen, Kemp and the non-ill / travelling part of Family Hines (aka Harrison) along with Percy (of course) and Boppa and GG who kindly held up the finish line.  Bikes were mounted, starter engines revved and off they sped.  And they really did go (fuelled in part by a left over pre-race chocolate chip cookie).  Even George took part at the beginning setting the pace with his walker and getting in the way of many lycra wearing runner and cyclist.  With their super hero capes flying the kids did good.  They crossed the 1 mile finish line together, refuelled on another chocolate chip cookie and turned back to do the same again back at the start, with a bit of tree climbing and stone throwing along the way.  Goody bags were on hand at the end though we forgot to get the helium balloons out the back of my in-laws car so that was a nice surprise for them when they got back home and opened the boot.

Little champs

 Our little legs were little superstars.  I love them all.  To pieces. x

Crashed out the next day

A mental photo

A couple of weeks ago my parents came over to babysit the boys whilst Mark and I went out for his Regimental dine out.  The next morning he took Alby to Winchester where they were meeting up with friends to watch Mister Maker at the theatre.  Meanwhile George and I played with my parents.  We sat on the floor, the sun coming in through the back door window, with George’s drum and xylophone between us.  George would bash his drum and shout, then my dad would have a go, then George, then my dad, then George…Then my dad would hold the drum or xylophone up to George’s ear to let him hear the note ring out.  He used to do the same to us when we were very young although that time it was with a tuning fork. 

It was one of those pure, simple, happy moments. And it lasted.  We must have sat there for over half an hour with George.  Him playing with the instruments, flapping his arms, yelling, looking around a bit and then bashing the drum or xylophone again and us echoing and copying where we could.  Those moments of such happy awareness you think you are almost having an out of body experience taking in every tiny detail.  I came close to grabbing my phone a few times to document the moment but I held back and settled for a mental photo instead.  I captured the image with my soul instead of with my camera.  Probably for the best as I can be a terrible photographed at times  and I doubt my iphone would have actually done any justice to the moment.

My dad is the one who brought music into my life.  I don’t know when music first entered his life but it has been a passion of his for the whole of my life.  He played guitar when I was younger, he still does now, but it wasn’t only that.  He used to fill the house with classical music.  I remember so vividly trying to have a lie in when I was 17 or something and him doing his normal Sunday morning thing  - waking up and getting himself sorted and then booming some symphony or another through the speakers loudly enough to ensure that no matter what room he was in or what job he was up to we heard it.  It was 9:30am and I was so angry with him that morning.  Now though (possibly because he isn’t waking me up anymore) I love that he has music in his blood.  And I love it even more so when that gets shared with the boys. 

And that Sunday morning it was brilliant.  My parents are amazing and I’m not sure if it’s ever just been the four of us: mum, dad, George and me.  There’s usually a raucous pre-schooler in the room taking up a large part of, well, of everything – space, attention, noise, imagination. And it’s brilliant when Alby is there, obviously.  But this was special too and I will hold onto the memory for as long as my brain allows.