Two of a Kind

Yesterday saw daughter number one celebrate her 33rd birthday. It doesn't seem that nearly a third of a century has passed since I packed a case for my wife at the time, all ready for the day she was due to give birth, in order she could rush straight to Aberdeen's Maternity Hospital.

On that morning, back in 1986, I awoke my wife and asked if she was okay. She replied she felt absolutely fine.

Would she mind if I went to the Aberdeen-Hearts game that day? Of course not she smiled.

She wasn't smiling 12 hours later when I returned home. I omitted to say the game wasn't being played in Aberdeen. As it was the Scottish Cup final it was in Glasgow - 140 miles away...

But daughter Laura did her bit to save my skin my delaying her entrance to the world by a full week. So, there was no harm done...

Laura now has four children of her own. The oldest, Jack is 14 years old. The youngest, Daniel is just 7 months old. As you might detect from the photos below, there is an uncanny resemblance...

Jack 2005

Daniel 2019

Happy Birthday, Laura

As if I don't feel my age enough, daughter number one reached the ripe old age of 30 today. Who would have thought the cute wee 4 year old on the left would transform into the middle-aged young lady on the right...?

Happy birthday, kid!

Happy Birthday, Laura

Happy birthday to a fabulous daughter and wonderful mother.

Happy Birthday, Laura

My elder daughter was born on this day in 1986 - one of the happiest days of my life. Clearly, she gets her good looks from her father. I'm very proud of her (if she reads this she'll think I've gone soft!) Happy birthday, darling.

A Birthday Remembered

My father would have been 73 years old today. Sadly, a decade and a half has passed since he was taken away from us. I was touched by my elder daughter Laura's words on Facebook:

Again today so sad I cry
Another year has passed us by
Wish heaven had a phone to call
And wish you the happiest birthday of all.

Underneath her hard exterior lurks a sensitive wee soul!

25 Years On...

Saturday 10 May 1986. The day my wife was due to give birth to our first child. When Saturday morning arrived I woke up to a bright sunny day in Aberdeen where we lived at the time. I brought Mrs Smith a cup of tea in bed and asked if she was okay. She smiled, thanked me and said she felt fine. ‘That’s good’ I said, ‘Because I’m going to the football’ Pat’s smile faded quicker than a bank manager’s bonus. ‘You mean you’re still going?’ she asked, somewhat incredulously. Time for quick thinking I thought to myself. ‘Well, yes, if you don’t mind. It is Aberdeen Hearts are playing and my mate  Graeme is giving me a lift there’ This seemed to placate my wife of less than four years. ‘But what if I need you?’ she asked. This was the tricky bit. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ I replied, ‘I’ll phone you a couple of times to check how you are’

A couple of things here for younger readers and those who, like Pat, are not in the slightest bit interested in the beautiful game. Firstly, mobile phones were some way off general use in the mid 1980s. Those that were around tended to be used by high-flying business types and were the size of a small mid-terraced house. Therefore, my means of checking if baby Smith was on the way would be by the use of public telephones - call boxes. Secondly, I was factually correct in stating the big game was between Hearts and Aberdeen. And that my mate Graeme, an avid Aberdeen fan, would be driving me there. However, I did omit the fact that as the game was the Scottish Cup final it would be played at Hampden Park, Glasgow - 140 miles away. A fair point, I concede. I looked at it this way. Yes, my wife understandably wanted me to be present at the birth of our first child. As, indeed, did I. Nonetheless, I had to balance this up with the very real possibility that Hearts may never reach another Scottish Cup Final. I had followed the Jam Tarts for eighteen years up to this point and had never had a whiff of success. This chance might never arrive again. Whereas, there was a good chance my wife would have more children. So, off to Glasgow I scampered leaving a less than happy Mrs Smith and an outraged mother-in-law who threatened to decapitate me on my return (a tad harsh in my view)

Hearts lost the final 3-0 and it was a long journey back to Aberdeen in the company of Graeme who in the 1980s was getting used to seeing his team win cup finals. To his credit, he didn’t hang around much after the game and we headed back north in little under three hours. There I found a smouldering Mrs Smith still pregnant....

Saturday 17 May 1986. 3.25pm. Laura, a bouncing baby girl arrived and changed my life forever. It seems like yesterday - now she has three children of her own. The photo above was taken last week to celebrate Laura's daughter  - my gorgeous grand-daughter Ava's - first birthday.

Happy 25th birthday Laura. I'm proud of you.

ps thanks to those who have sent their best wishes regarding Mrs Smith's hospital admission last week. Since I last posted she was re-admitted to hospital on Saturday with more chest pains. Curiously, the large amount of tests she has had since going back in have not found anything amiss with her heart, other than it is slightly larger than normal (big-hearted Mrs Smith? Surely some mistake?) She is due to get out of hospital and return home on Wednesday, diagnosis as yet uncertain. It's a strange world we live in.

　

Happy New Year

The Auld Reekie Ranter wishes everyone a Happy New Year, particularly those who visit these pages. I hope 2011 is everything you wish it to be. The year has started well - a win for Hearts in the Edinburgh derby (http://www.ontheterracing.blogspot.com/)

The photo above shows a young, slim very attractive, gifted and charming member of the Smith family celebrating at the bells on Hogmanay – alongside his elder daughter Laura....

Awrabest!

A Pregnant Pause

What with the recession, health problems and an ever increasing workload at the office, there hasn't been much in the way of good news for The Ranter recently. Although Hearts did hammer Aberdeen 5-0 yesterday to lift the gloom considerably. So I was delighted to read that one of Scotland's top bloggers, Groanin' Jock will become a father for the first time in 2011. My very best wishes go to him and the famous 'Mrs Wife' (Jock's blog is an excellent read) for the weeks ahead. It will, of course, be a life changing event for them both and his news set me thinking back to the early summer of 1986 when my elder daughter Laura was born. If you like, a pregnant pause to reflect (okay, give me a break!)

Being a new Dad felt brilliant. Apart from when I had to change dirty nappies. And getting up several times during the night because Laura felt the urge to be fed. And when she would throw up all over me on all too frequent occasions. But, apart from that,…I loved Laura with all my heart (whisper it, but I still do…) When I took her out in her pram, I felt twelve feet tall. I wore that smug look which shouted LOOK AT ME, I’M A DAD, and THIS IS MY BABY…as if no one else were parents. I had a week off work when Laura was born and my wife Pat and our newborn were kept in hospital for four days. Laura had jaundice and my initial horror at this revelation was tempered somewhat when a nurse reassured me this was quite normal in newborn babies. I was in dreamland in the immediate days following the birth before reality kicked in and Pat brought Laura home. Fragile, frightened, screaming….it is fair to say Pat was taking time to adjust to being a mother. But baby Laura was grand. After only six weeks, she was sleeping for most of the night, which came as a huge relief to Pat and me, and, no doubt, to the neighbours.


In the days that followed it seemed half of Aberdeen, where we lived at the time, visited our house to see Laura. Many of Pat’s family appeared have devised a rota system - if it wasn’t her mother it was one of her sisters or brother or some other damn in-law. My family consisted of my mother and she was a regular visitor to see her first grandchild. Pat’s mother had several others but, being an only child, I was the sole provider of grandchildren to my mother. It was such a big event that my father even made the trip north from Cumbernauld. I could see the pride and joy in his eyes when he held baby Laura for the first time and, I don’t mind admitting, it brought a lump to my throat. My father and I became closer when Laura arrived and he and I kept in contact more often than we had done previously. He knew he had missed out on so much of my growing up and he seemed to realise that he didn’t want to miss out on his grand-daughter. In the years that followed, however, events would tragically transpire against him.

More than twenty four years on the events of the summer of 1986 are still very fresh in my mind. Every parent will feel the same. The world may be a troubled place but for Groanin' Jock and his good lady 2011 promises to be the most wonderful of their lives. If I may give Jock one piece of advice - Ibrox isn't the most child friendly of places - but Tynecastle is....

Happy Birthday Laura

My elder daughter is 24 years old today. I still remember the day she was born as if it were yesterday - now she has three children of her own, the latest addition arriving less than a week ago.

Have a great day, darling.

When a Child is Born - Part 2 (well, 3 actually...)

My third grandchild - Ava - was born at 5.18pm on Tuesday 11 May 2010 at Edinburgh's Royal Infirmary. She is - like her big sister Hannah and her even bigger brother Jack - a little diamond. Then again, I'm biased...! I thank my daughter Laura and her partner Nicol for bringing another little bundle of joy into my life. I am proud of each and every one of them...

Getting Old (Part 94)

I find it hard to believe that it's less than twenty years since the above photograph of a somewhat angelic looking child was taken. My darling daughter Laura had recently celebrated her fourth birthday when the above snap was taken shortly after my family and I moved into the Gorgie area of Edinburgh. It's even harder to believe Laura now has two children of her own, the terrible twosome but eminently loveable Jack and Hannah. And belief nearly becomes suspended altogether when one considers Laura has a third child on the way in May. She'll probably cringe when she sees this and I expect her to give me a hard time but she knows I'm proud of her - especially so given this third pregnancy has been a particularly difficult one for her with more hospital visits than Nicola Sturgeon...

Seeing my wee girl do such a great job of bring up Jack and Hannah and prepare for another child, is another sign of my ageing process. I had an appointment with my doctor today as I continue to suffer from a viral illness and sought stronger anti-biotics to finally kill the blighter. Apparently what I have can last for up to six weeks - but to quote my friend Adullamite, I'm not one to complain...

However, my repeat prescription list now has nine items on it - including my usual medication to control my high blood pressure, asthma and cholesterol. My doctor asked if I smoked. She wasn't impressed with my reply that I didn't and she should have remembered to buy her fags on the way to the surgery...

I'm off now to the chemist. I hope they have plenty of stock...

A Pregnant Pause

Without wishing to sound like the late, great Rikki Fulton's Reverend I.M. Jolly - it's been a helluva year what with one thing and another. On Monday I joined the rest of the family in celebrating youngest daughter Michaela's 20th birthday. There was one notable absentee from the celebrations - elder daughter Laura. She was at home, in bed, struggling to stop being sick. Today she was admitted to Edinburgh's Royal Infirmary. The reason for her incessant nausea? She is pregnant.

Next March - all being well - I shall be blessed with grandchild number three. I have little doubt that grandchildren one and two, Jack and Hannah - or Bonnie and Clyde as I like to call them - will welcome their new sibling with open arms and will waste little time in teaching the little blighter how to wrap Papa around his/her little finger. But, I need to be strong.

My thoughts tonight are with Laura and the hope she gets home either tomorrow or the day after. Her well being is paramount. My other concerns - such as how the hell am I going to find the money for presents for Christmas 2010 - can wait...

Should Mothers Stay at Home?

A growing number of people are concerned about the impact working mothers have on family life, according to British research. Should mothers stay home and look after the family? A study by Cambridge University in the UK has found that support of mothers having a career is beginning to decline. In 1998, 51% of women and 45.9% of men believed that family life would not suffer if a woman went to work. This number decreased to 46% of women and 42% of men in 2002.

From the BBC News website

The inference from this research appears to be that working mums are to blame for declining standards of British society. If mothers stayed at home like the dutiful wives they're meant to be, to look after the children and cook and clean for the husband then life in Britain would be idyllic. Wouldn't it?

This may have been the way of things in this country fifty years ago. But life in
21st century Britain is far different. The economics of this country mean that most people simply have to work. When my gruesome twosome daughters Laura and Michaela were children, their mother had to work at the weekends in order that we could make ends meet. Which meant we seldom did things as a family and this increased the strain on our relationship. But if she hadn't gone out to work we wouldn't have been to afford the mortgage. Now, years later, daughter Laura struggles with part-time work and having to pay what are, quite frankly, outrageous nursery fees.

This is something that needs looking at. The cost of childcare in this country is ridiculous. If the government would spend less of the taxpayers money on futile wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and more on the people who really need it - the working people of this country - then perhaps society would improve. I'm not blaming the government for bad parenting. All parents have an obligation to bring up their children as best they can. However, for some, the financial struggle of raising their offspring is a real hardship. If real financial assistance was available for families, perhaps one of the parents may consider not working full-time and spending more time with their children.

To my mind, it shouldn't just be mothers who should be seen as the ones staying at home. Fathers should have the right to do this too - the term house husband should be looked in the same light as house wife.

It seems to me the researchers at Cambridge University have too much time on their hands. I wonder if any of them have children?

The Best Days of Your Life?

It's another sign of getting older - counting the years that have passed since you left school. It's more than thirty years for me now but I can still recall it as if it were yesterday.

I've been thinking about my school day lately as I've been in touch recently with an old school friend. Like me, Colleen remembers some of the old school trips and some of the things we used to get up to. However, her view that school days are the happiest of your life is not something I share.

I didn't particularly enjoy school. In fact I detested primary school and the nightmare that was school dinners. Truly awful, quite inedible gunge that was passed as food was, at times, quite sickening. Literally so, as the Commandant who was the teacher in charge of the school meals hut forced every child to eat what was on their plate. It was so awful, some of us used to smuggle out items of food in handkerchiefs so we could show the old battle axe our plate was empty. For nine year old children, this was quite traumatic.

Secondary school was a bit better - but then the work was harder! I fell through, what I call, the fourteen year old trapdoor. The first two years at secondary school were fine. But then, at fourteen years of age, I discovered girls. At the same time, punk rock was coming to the fore. With both these major events in my life happening, my school work never stood a chance. From 1976 to 1978 I lost interest in working at school and concentrated my efforts on other things.

I left school on 31 May 1978 with just four 'O' levels. I started work, in a furniture store, four days later. A dead end job which I hated. But I soon got another job and learned more away from school than I ever did at it. I tried to warn my two daughters about the perils of falling through the fourteen year old trapdoor. Laura ignored me and fell into the same abyss which I suspect she regrets now, even though she has two wonderful children of her own and is busy working part-time. But at just twenty-two she could have had so much more career-wise. Michaela did listen and has done well for herself. She still left school at sixteen but she has a decent job, her own car and until last year her own flat. Her ambition, I'm delighted to say, still burns brightly.

Of course, school days three decades ago were much different. We had to wear school uniform for a start. And there was corporal punishment for those who misbehaved. Six of the best from the maths teacher was one way of teaching you how to add up! And there were no computers in schools in the 1970s - certainly not the one I attended.

The best days of your life? Sadly, not for me. School taught me nothing about what to expect in the big wide world. They say what you do at school can shape the rest of your life. But, for me, women, relationships, music and football were far greater influences.

If the lovely Colleen reads this, she may know exactly what I mean....