Normal for........

As a lawyer the word "normal" could be a source of great comfort : "well, normally in a case like this we would expect whatever-it-is, and so I think we could proceed on that basis". Of course that expectation could lead to disappointment - but then again "normally" can be your friend "well, normally, such and such would apply, but of course in this case...".

"Normal" was a friendly word, a tool. And then, I entered a different gladiatorial arena.  I became......a parent.

(I very much enjoyed Katy Brand's parody of Kate Winslet - based on her wearing red carpet dresses at all times while reciting "I'm a NORMAL  mum, I'm a NORMAL mum......Katy Brand Clip - click here)

In fact in our house the word "normal" is not a favorite.  Mainly because when you find that you fall outside it (from "normal" to officially, educationally "special")  it suddenly carries a negative overtone.

But even if you are a parent (or carer) of "normal" children (sorry!) you face constant anxiety about how "normal" (or not) they are.......all their developmental milestones are measured and commented on by reference to "within normal limits" and the range of what can be "normal" is bewilderingly wide, tall, long, and deep!

(There is also another use of the word "normal" from my childhood - as in "You know that's not normal, don't you".  Which when uttered by a Professor of Psychiatry is worrying.  Answer :Yes, I know. Am I bothered).

Now, there are various "normal for....." sayings (for example Stephen Fry's oft-quoted "Normal for Norfolk" and in our family and circle of friends we eventually coined the phrase "Normal for Boys" as quite simply the only explanation for some of the mystifying behavior that the Boys seemed to have in common.

So,  I have now decided to embrace the word "NORMAL" and come up with one all-purpose definition of any behavior you care to exhibit or observe: thusly................."Normal for ........SOMEWHERE". And so I joyfully remind myself that rearranging my mugs so they hang in a certain order and always preferring to drink out of one particular one is......yup, NORMAL  for somewhere!

My refusal to eat creme eggs if they are not chilled so the fondant is not runny, my inability to leave pictures unstraightened and my aversion to food cooked by children unless I supervised them personally - NORMAL! for somewhere.


My obsession with all things opera, with Mozart music, and even my love of Gilbert & Sullivan operettas and heroines......NORMAL for somewhere.  


My inability to hear anyone speak to me if reading a gripping book, my need to turn off sources of sound so that I'm not deluged by simultaneous cricket on the radio, cBeebies and shrieking/trampolining, my preference for labeling things in cupboards......NORMAL for somewhere.


(I think we are best served by NOT considering where the "somewhere" is that these behaviors would be considered normal.)

So whoever you are and whatever your own little quirks or foibles (so long as within legal, moral and any other limits you care to adopt!!) - relax.  You're NORMAL!

Right, I'm off to rearrange my mugs and eat a chilled creme egg.  While I watch Opera on YouTube.

Restricted View.....

They say you never forget your First Time, and I have to agree.  In my case my First Time going to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden........and I went to see an opera that I love, Mozart's Die Zauberflote, or the Magic Flute.

(I'm not going to attempt a review of the performance because I am far to ignorant for my opinion to be informative, but also I loved everything about it! There are loads of bloggers online, many on Twitter who review opera brilliantly and in detail, with wit and intelligence and, above all, knowledge!  Read them!)

Ooooh get me! Sound pretentious?? Why? It was magical, beautiful, thrilling, enchanting, inspiring, but above all accessible.  The tickets, "restricted view", bought well in advance were the grand sum of £7.50 each. And despite being "restricted view" I could see virtually all of the staging for the production - although I couldn't see the back of the stage - fortunately much of the action took place in the majority that I could see!

It was a Saturday matinee performance and the house was almost full with adults, children, teenagers (because they are a separate category, aren't they) evidencing an almost bewildering variety of background and provenance in their choice of dress - from emo/goth to bordering on evening dress!

Prices for bar snacks and programmes were not prohibitive and I even ran to a half time ice-cream.

And it was, genuinely, exciting to be in such a beautiful, well known building with such a wealth of history seeping out of the walls.  Everywhere I looked there were photos, costumes on display, information, history - OPERA! Everyone who is anyone has stood on that stage and sung (my co-superfan suggested that we bunk on to the stage at the end and just sing anything, humpty dumpty , whatever so we could say we had done so) and I felt as I sound writing now.  Like a giddy, overwhelmed, naive, enthusiastic, joyous beginner discovering something wonderful that no-one had ever seen before! Although I felt inhibited about exclaiming or coo-ing too publicly about each nugget of operatic gold on display, most people seemed distinctly too cool to acknowledge any excitement, or perhaps just got to be there so often that they had already got it out of their system.

The singers were wonderful - I particularly enjoyed Elizabeth Meister as the First Lady, but everyone was wonderful.  The Queen of the Night had been flown in to cover illness and, we were told, it was her 709th performance (or thereabouts).  (My YouTube research and blog devouring tells me this is called "einspringen" - jumping in at the last minute, I just like the word - does what it says!).

I've overflowed with naive (yet hopefully charming) exuberance for long enough.  I'll never forget my first time at the ROH and I can't wait til my children are old enough to come too and enjoy it with me.  And we will run around together looking at every picture and exclaiming. And, naturally, have a half time ice-cream.

(Postscript: we were amused to see the battle-weary musicians in the pit matter-of factly packing away their instruments and scarpering in short order. The pit was empty pretty much before the applause had died away.  But then they had about two hours to eat, rest etc before arriving to start all over again!)

The smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd....

My little sister threatened to stage an intervention for my "internet addiction" as a result of a 6 posts in 10 days frenzy of blogging.  Shortly after which I did disappear from the blogosphere. However, this wasn't an attempt to convince my sister that I am still normal despite not having to go to an office every day (too little too late to convince her I fear, she knows me too well!).

I've been out and about dear Reader (I know I have at least one, even if it's only out of duty/pity).

I have (since I last inflicted myself on the blogosphere) performed a principal role in a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, been to the Royal Opera House (my first time ever - and yes the earth did move for me) and at the other end of the glamor and escapism scale continued my "helping" out at the kids school (I'm only allowed to use the safety scissors though), done the "Rainbows" rota, been to an Autism support drop in session, balanced the grocery books (complexity beyond the worst set of tangled family trust fund worth millions) and done a thousand and one mundane household things, far too many involving unspeakably soiled laundry and impossibly tiny fragments of food in improbable crevices.

I am, it's fair to say, "mummy" through and through and with every fibre of my being.  I am still at the stage where my "spider senses" are honed to the degree that I have managed to arrive at sick child's bedside with appropriate waterproof vomit receptacle before the sheets are decorated without really being awake.  And yet, performance whether on the stage or watching, rapt, from (VERY HIGH) up in the balcony is a wonderful transforming escapism.

I'm still mummy and if one of the children isn't right then there will still be molecules of my brain vibrating at that "concern" frequency - but they are drowned out by the roar of the crowd, just for a time, leaving me totally refreshed for when I wipe off said greasepaint, or emerge (via many many many corridors and steps) blinking into the fresh air.

This is why, for me the arts and music are important.  (I know that Mr Life After Law would speak in similar terms of that moment at the crease as the bowler runs up and you are blinking the sweat out of your eyes ready to make your 50).  They offer us all the opportunity, not to evade or reject our responsibilities but (in my case) just to set down the burden temporarily and rest by the road. And then, get back up and get on with it. But slightly less irritably.

I recently played "Phyllis" in the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta "Iolanthe" -and each show there was a moment of balance and tranquility - the sort of "I love it when a plan comes together" moment as the scene or the duet came together under the heat of the stage lighting, when you know you and your co-stars have got it together and you have the audience with you.  And it was GREAT. Bring on the next show.  Til then, I'll be  hanging out for cheap tickets to the Royal Opera House and hanging on every note, til it's back to reality.