Five Minute Friday: Ache

Got five minutes? Come and write with us, we promise to tell you we loved it!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

Five Minute Friday

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The moments in my life when I've ached the most have been some of the most memorable. My muscles screaming and my lungs on fire as I climbed a volcano with two of my closest friends when we were 16 and on a real adventure without parents. The soreness after having given birth to the two most important little boys in my world. The sadness in my heart after losing my dad, a few friends and a number of family members. My sleepy head and my blistered dancing feet after our wedding.

Of course, there have been many forgettable aches along the way and those are annoying, troublesome, irritating. The big aches, however, the ones to remember - they're not bad. There is such a thing as a good ache. This is something I try and fail to explain to my four-year-old. He suffered from bad headaches when he was about 3 and he now often wakes screaming with growing pains. Those headaches, they were bad. But growing pains, they're good! They may not feel like it but they mean you're a healthy, growing boy who's going to tower over his mum one day. They are an ache full of promise, of the man you will one day be. That thought, in turn, makes my heart ache - ache for the baby he was, ache with sadness of losing my grip over him, having to let go a tiny little bit each day. That too, is a good ache.

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Five minute Friday: Grit

On Fridays we write like we believe we can fly. Won’t you join us? Five Minute Friday

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

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Last week I had lunch with an ex-colleague. We talked about where our lives had taken us since we last met and she told me that I was strong, that I was brave, that I had grit. This surprised me because I really don't see myself that way. She meant that she was impressed with the way I had picked up my life again after being made redundant and then losing my dad so suddenly.

That doesn't make it any less surprising to me. In these economically difficult times, so many people are being made redundant. Some even lose entire companies, their companies, so being out of work for a short while is really not something that takes grit to overcome, I feel. As for losing my dad - for me that was briefly the end of the world but I have two very young sons who still have an entire world to discover and I am privileged that I can accompany them on at least part of that journey. I really don't see myself as someone with grit, per se. I'm just a mum and a wife and a daughter and a friend, getting on with life and making the most of it. I have found a new job that I like and I'm still grieving for my dad (does that ever stop?) but it hurts just a little bit less each day. If that means I have grit, then sure, I'm one gritty girl! I just think it means I have a lot to live for and to be happy about, grit or not.

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Five minute Friday: Trust

Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.

We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery. On Fridays we just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Won’t you join us? Five Minute Friday

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When I was younger, people often told me I was too trusting. It was a major source of disappointment on several occasions. If someone asks me to do something or I offer to do something, I do it. If I have to take good care of something, I do. Somehow we always expect the people around us to be like us but the reality is that so often they aren't.

Now that I'm an adult - at least in age! - I find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Not in the way I behave but in how I see others. Especially since having children. Trusting others with my children, well, there just aren't really words for it. Even my husband, who is a fantastic dad - he just isn't me! The step towards choosing daycare was a tough one. How could anyone else be trusted with the most precious creatures in my world? But trust I did and this time, I wasn't disappointed. After having my second child, I suffered from post-natal depression and that brought with it an onslaught of fear and distrust. Leaving my kids behind for just an hour was a complete wrench. I hated feeling that way. When I recently had to go on a business trip, the first since having kids, I was so worried all those old feelings would come flooding back. However, I trusted in my husband, in my neighbours, in school, in daycare and I really trusted with my whole being. And you know what? They all proved to be trustworthy. Sometimes you just have to trust in trust.

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Color or colour?

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Is it color or colour? Having grown up amongst people from many different kinds of English-speaking countries, often the way they spelt things was an indication of where they came from. Why is it that the Americans organize whereas the British organise? I was educated within the British system, so I had words such as colour, realise, organisation and aluminium drummed into me. Since I entered the corporate world in a few large multinationals, suddenly I've had to let go of my Britishness, at least in the written word. As a copywriter, this is a pretty important facet of my job! It feels so unnatural, however, to write things the way I was always taught not to. It's then that you realise how much of an impact your teachers and your education system have on your whole life. After spending all day at work writing American English, which feels rebellious and wrong somehow, I find it somewhat of a relief to be able to write 'correctly' again once I am home. I even see the influence of language now in my sons - they speak English to me and Dutch to my husband. If I accidentally say something to them in Dutch, they will frown and tell me what I should have said, which is the same phrase in English. That is what I love about language - the many nuances and colours of language and the way it influences our lives.

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Five Minute Friday: Grateful

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There are so many things in my life I'm grateful for that I don't really know where to start. I'm grateful for all the people in my life - my lovely mum, my two gorgeous boys, my strong husband, my friends, my extended family, my church family. I'm more grateful than I can express that I had such a wonderful dad and that he was there for the first 39 years of my life and for the first years of my kids' lives. I'm grateful for the life we had as a family of 3 - living all over the world and experiencing so much. I'm grateful that I'm happy and healthy and that I've always been happy and healthy. I'm grateful that I was able to become a mum at all. I'm grateful that I have a job and a house and a car. I'm grateful that my eldest son can get a good education for free. I'm grateful we have good doctors and healthy food that we can easily get.

I am grateful that God has helped me and protected me and guided me to the place where I am now. I am grateful that He will continue to do that. I am grateful that I'm me and that this is my life.

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Five Minute Friday: Remember

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Memories are something I am so thankful for right now. My dad isn't here with us physically any more but his memory lives on in so many things. Just a couple of days ago, my mum and I were cycling with the boys and we cycled under a main road, through a tunnel. The boys started calling out and yodelling. This is something my dad started a few years ago, first with Jake and then with both the boys - the sound echoes under there and they would always create a cacophony of noise when they were out cycling. This is one of the many memories the boys have of him and although it is ear-splitting, I'm glad they are carrying on with his tradition.

Now that my dad is gone, I remember things about him all the time and they always make me smile. He was such a fun dad, life with him was always an adventure. I remember when I was about 8 or 9 and we were living in Malaysia. Our neighbourhood flooded during the monsoon season and my dad and I went for a walk through the flood waters, me gripping his hand tightly. At one point something slithered past my leg and my dad said casually "Oh, that was probably a snake." Just knowing that he was there made me feel safe and his strong hand enveloping mine let me know there was nothing that could happen to me.

More recently, in the summer of 2010, my dad and I went to watch the Dutch World Cup matches in the city centre on giant video screens. We were surrounded by young people but despite his 73 years, my dad was leaping around and cheering with the best of them. After a particularly exciting match, we walked back to the car drenched in beer and my dad threw his arms around a few passers-by and danced around with them in the street. They could have been annoyed or alarmed but there was something about my dad that made it possible for him to do things like that and always elicit a friendly response.

Even if I had 5 hours, it wouldn't be enough for all the memories of 39 years with my dad. I will share my memories with the boys and he will live on in them, in me, in my mum and in everyone whose lives he touched. Dad, thank you for the memories.

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