A Pink Poncho, A Flamingo Top and Some Rules For Parenting Teens.

You may remember that I attended a 30-40+ blogger meet in London, last month. The event was sponsored by Hope Fashion and the founder Nayna Mackintosh very kindly gave every delegate one of these bright pink ponchos. It's a mix of Merino wool and cashmere and is unbelievably soft, light and warm. I don't wear wool ordinarily because I find that it makes me itch, but this doesn't at all, so soft are the fibres, (which is rather a shame for my mum because I would have given it to her if it did).

These photographs were taken two weeks ago, before I had my hair cut and the day before the start of the hot sunny spell that lasted for well over a week. It was too warm to even think about writing a post about it so I put it on the back-burner until now, because the temperature has dropped significantly and it's grey and wet outside. An injection of  bright colour is perfect for dull days although I think this poncho will be useful all year round. I'd wear it with denim shorts and sandals on a breezy British beach and with layers and boots in winter and it's ideal for in-flight cosiness because unlike a jacket, it can easily be folded and packed away if arriving at a warm destination. 

I wore mine on a day when I was running errands in Skipton with my children during their half-term holiday. I've found of late that my 13 year-old son is less and less keen to go out in public with me lest we be seen together, because he would "literally die of embarrassment." Because of this, he walks incredibly quickly ahead of me, so flat shoes are a must for keeping apace with him. They're also a good and practical option when traversing Skipton's cobbles too actually. I take heart in the fact that I know I'm not the only embarrassing mother, because several others have been afforded the same accolade by their equally quick-footed teenage boys. He makes me laugh though and so long as I follow his guidelines, he's happy. I may "like" his Instagram posts, but I may not be the first liker. I may not comment in case someone traces it and me back to my blog. Unthinkable. When watching him play football/rugby, I may clap and cheer but I am not permitted to say actual words. I may only attend to him when injured if bone is visible, if he has been rendered unconscious or if the Air Ambulance has been summoned. I wonder what his friends would think if they were to hear him tell me several times a day that he loves me. If they were to see just how caring and sensitive he is and that he still likes to snuggle with me, while wearing his monkey onesie, before he goes to bed. I suspect that behind closed doors they're all the same. 

In complete contrast, my 15 year-old daughter loves going out with me and is pleased if we bump into her friends when we're out. She asks if I'll comment on her social media and warns me in advance that she's about to post to Instagram so that I can be the first liker. She is proud of my blog and has told her media teacher about it. Yet, getting her to lie with me for a cuddle is like trying to catch a cloud. She rarely says "I love you" preferring to text the diminutive "ILY" but I'm in no doubt about how much she loves me. 

My children are my everything and my world revolves around them. I enjoy (almost) every minute with them and I love seeing how their personalities and personae are developing. I adore them, they adore me and even a day such as this when all we did was go to the dentist and to the school uniform shop, I was left with precious memories of time spent together. These little things are sometimes quite big.