Way back when Hitler was a cadet....
Kids received presents only at Christmas time and on birthdays, not every other week like they do nowadays. Back in our day, any presents were a real treat and greatly valued.

Growing up, my folks had very little dosh; certainly none to be spared on such frivolities as store-bought toys. All of my playmates were lovingly home-made. Jemima was crafted from a pillowcase and her blue & white stripey legs were from an old nightie. She had thick brown woolly hair tied in bunches, her blue eyes and orange crescent shaped mouth patiently sewn in place. She was originally intented as a replica of the Jemima doll from Play School ("Which window shall we look through today?") only my mother excelled herself and my Jemima was far superior. She was the nearest I had to a sister and accompanied me everywhere. We fought like cat and dog; all my childhood frustrations were vented on Jemima as I pummelled her head, yet she set a sterling example of smiling through the pain.

As I progressed through the 10-year-old horse-mad girlie phase, my ultimate dream of having my own pony was sated with the inception of Bobbins. He was a 5' grey legless donkey, whose body was stuffed with old blankets. He had a lovely soft cuddly head, with the most empathic eyes. My mother even fashioned a bridle and saddle from faux leather, left over from recovering a dining chair. Oh, the adventures we had! Sometimes Jemima would ride behind me, her skinny pink arms tied around my waist. Bobbins was my confidante throughout adolescence. I cried rivers of tears into his cuddly neck, whispering secrets of first crush heartbreak.

My mothers piéce de resistance was Emu. Woolworths stocked the blue fluffy ones, but all the kids in our lane were jealous of mine. His legs were crafted from an old pair of cream evening gloves, leaving three stuffed fingers on each for his feet. He even had knee joints made with two fingers stuffed and sewn together, fixed horizontally in the middle of each leg. The left over sleeve of one glove made his neck, with a length of blue fuzzy fabric down the back to match his body. His head was bulked up with a rolled up pair of tights. His body was lined with black tassles (together with his mad plastic eyes, these were the only puchased appendages).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fast forward 16 years.........

I returned to Blighty from my Greek life, pregnant with Sweary Jr, my heart in tatters, my life broken. PTSD left my eyes hollow - my soul had been gouged out with a plastic spoon. My father was brow beating me to submit that abortion was my only realistic option. But that's another can of worms... When I couldn't go through with it (this baby was very much wanted and planned) on my return from hospital, having "failed" to do "the sensible thing", I had to ask his permission to have my own child - because at the time i was again living under his roof.

My mother, bless her millions, had accompanied me to my appointment for the scan - I was too far pregnant for a standard abortion, I would have had to have labour induced and give birth. She broke down when I did, and promised to support me whatever decision I made. Hey, did I have a choice? "Of course you do!" assured the kind nurse, "it's not too late to change your mind, you don't have to go through with this!"
To which I sobbed, "My mind was never set on this - it's the last thing I want."

So my dear mother did her royal best to ease the situation. She took me to Mothercare and bought baby bootees and maternity clothes. But life as a single parent? That had never been in my game plan. But I knew, somehow, we'd manage.

In part of her encouragement, she asked if I wanted to keep Emu et al for my baby to enjoy. One of my few regrets in this life was the callous decision I made to bin the lot. I no longer had time for soppy sentiment after all I'd endured. This was not the life I'd planned but I'd have to toughen up and be practical. I'd lost so much of my heart and soul, what value could any material possesions have?

So my priceless childhood companions, all made with so much love, were bagged and put out for the bin men. My mother sobbed throughout the whole macabre process. It sounds wet, but a little piece of her heart broke that day. At my own instigation, she wasn't just throwing away my cherished chums, but my former care-free, innocent, happy little self.

(Apologies for soppiness - this place ain't half a cathartic vent sometimes. And apologies for length - it all just came spurting out ;o) Promise to resume to usual swearage ASAP.)
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 17:30, 17 replies)

That's
so awesome and then so sad.

I once made a stuffed mole using a kit. But your emu sounds much cooler.
(Bazongaloid, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 17:38, closed)

*sniffs*
We can discuss your mole over a pint on Saturday ;o)

hur hur snik oof etc.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 17:42, closed)

Woo!
Davros said he is going to have an especially long nap the night before so he doesn't fall asleep in his beer.
(Bazongaloid, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 17:44, closed)

Best I don't *keep him up* on Friday ;o)
I'll lace his beer with real hard Geordie string vest too!

*does a little wee*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 17:52, closed)

Oi!
Are you casting aspersions on my ability to stay up? I've never fallen asleep in a pint of beer in my life.

I always wait until I've finished the fecker...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 19 Aug 2008, 18:06, closed)

You want aspersions or nasturtiums?
I would cast neither at your ability to stay up!

*giggles at being rude*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 18:16, closed)

Print this post out
and put it in your mum's Christmas card this year. I'm sure she would appreciate it.
(dxg, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 18:22, closed)

Sniff...
But look at where you are and who you are today.

Beautifully written as always.

*click*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 19 Aug 2008, 18:35, closed)

Aw bless!
And a bless for you mother as well for being so nifty with the needle and thread.
( girlinthehole, Tue 19 Aug 2008, 19:01, closed)

I am humbled...

by your strength, dignity and tenderness.

I don't really know what else to say...other than *sniffs*, *clicks*, and *offers drink on Saturday*

I didn't think it was possible, but I look forward to meeting you that little bit more
now.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 19 Aug 2008, 22:18, closed)

homemade crocodile...
This reminds me...

My mum was also brilliant at this type of stuff, however she was away for a few days, so my dad took over 'making' responsibilities.

I ended up with 'Snappy' the crocodile.

Instead of being what I had imagined - a green felt covered antatomically correct reptile, I ended up with two bits of foam (you know the stuff - looks like egg boxes) about a 1'by 4" tied together at one end so the 'teeth' met in the middle. Dad, bless him, drew on the top a pair of eyes.

So I had a crocodile jaw with eyes held together with string.

Wow - Snappy was alive and I loved him!

_{Hi Davros, Tourette's *waves*}
(twiceydrinker hmmm is it pint time?, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 8:35, closed)

Tourettes

That's the 'best' piece I've read this week. So much distilled emotion - I'm choked. My mum made brilliant toys - knitted mermaids were her speciality, but this was for neices and granddaughters mainly. So true though about really special toys, my old teddy was sewn back together numerous times: eye transplant, new feet etc.

I understand you binning the lot and all in all, it was probably the right move. Not sure how old sweary jnr is, has your mum made them any special toys? If not, why not ask her to. [Apologies for sticking my oar in, feel free to swear at me very loudly].

Che
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 9:14, closed)

Che
Feel free to stick your oar in any time ;o)
He's 12 now, and she did knit him a rather splendid Kipper (the dog with a slipper) when he was a tot. She recently performed a minor surgical procedure on his tail, and he is recovering well on the couch. I have to remind him to do his physiotherapy though...
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 10:51, closed)

...
...
...click.
(Sir Harrington Titsmith disgraced himself on, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 12:04, closed)

Dear God
.
Those of you who haven't met Tourettes in the flesh are in for a hell of a shock.

Those who expect to meet a demure, sensitive lady, bearing up bravely under the crushing burdens of the past are going to just die.

She's as subtle as a turd in a Jacuzzi.

When she was staying at mine one night, she endeared herself to the locals in my pub by shouting:

"Oy! Will you stop looking at my tits you fucking pervert!!!"

I will guarantee that at least one of you will shoot beer through your nose when she opens her mouth and speaks without thinking.

She's a force of nature.

She's a female Macc Lad.

She's my friend.



Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 12:40, closed)

^This
Is all true.

And dat's why I love her so.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 20 Aug 2008, 12:48, closed)

*blushes*
*scuffs feet shyly*

*blows kisses to Legless*

*gets distracted by pretty flowers*

*thinks about beer*

*does a little wee*

*thinks about Legless some more*

*pines*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 12:59, closed)