Finally a post that doesn't complain about the state of my relationship or wallow in self pity.
Inspired by the parcel that arrived this morning, I have decided to blog about my Gran.
I could see the parcel on the laminate floor lying at the foot of the door. Snuggled up on the sofa with the baby sleeping across my legs, I was reluctant to move. I wasn't expecting any delivery of newly purchased goodies, but there was still a spattering of gifts arriving through the post from people I have never heard of, let alone met, wishing congratulations on the new arrival.
Encouraged by the people of Twitter, I left the sofa and picked up the packet. The disappointment was instant when I saw my Gran's handwriting.
The contents spilt onto the sofa -
A white cotton mop cap/bonnet
Knitted pink mittens
A hand written note
4 photographs
I was slightly disappointed that I had allowed myself to get briefly excited that something good had arrived through the letterbox but was amused when I read the note.
"Just a hurried note to let you have the bonnet and mitts, if the mitts are not needed, they can be used for mobile phone covers, good thinking eh?"
Not really Gran. Can't see OH stuffing his IPhone into a tiny pink knitted mitten?
The photo's were also a hoot. She is shocking when it comes to taking pictures. Firstly, she is obsessed. Her camera is there at every visit and she orders whoever is present to lean in and smile. Two of the pictures contained my children and baby (part of heads were missing and my elbow and legs only made it into the scene) and the other two gems were out of focus cakes.
One was 10yr old girl's Liverpool FC birthday cake and the other was our cheap wedding cake (delicious Cost-Co marshmallowy jam gooey cake.)
Maybe it's her age and she needs to have a record of pointless memories. In 30 years we will remember the cake, but there are no photo's of the people on that day?
Whenever she visits, she comes bearing gifts. Even when it's someone else visiting, she has sent one of her carrier bags for them to give to me.
They are not Supermarket carrier bags, but usually plain blue plastic ones or red and white stripy ones, that you get from the market or a take-away.
In it will be a random assortment of fruit bars or chocolate from various European countries, that taste foul and only found discounted in some "Home&Bargain" type shop.
I can usually guarantee that there will be some socks in the bag. She rotates the purchases between me and the kids. They get school socks, I get nasty coloured trainer socks. Those type that just go over your heel. They are uncomfortable mother-fuckers and I don't even own trainers to wear them under. All socks are bought from Primark or the market and have the printed price scribbled out and sale price hand-written on.
Cheese heavily features in the carrier bag, most likely some form of cheese slice (those ones wrapped in plastic that you put on burgers) or soft cheese triangles. Again, these are not branded and have a short expiry date.
Meat sometimes makes an appearance as she has an obsession with Gammon at the moment. It comes vacuum-packed from the market and when you open the seal, a nasty smell omits. I did give the gammon a chance and cooked it once. Only OH was brave enough to eat it.
Bread is another staple product of the bag. It will have been purchased from Kwik-Save on the last possible date it could be sold, so it has a marked-down price on it. It's then quickly frozen and sent to me. She reminds me of one of those frozen sweetcorn adverts, frozen, packed and at your door before the day is out.
Then there are the surprises. It could be absolutely anything. From a home-made material carrier bag dispenser, to household cloths, old Christmas cards for scrap paper or scarily, an item of clothing for one of us to wear.
I have been receiving these carrier bags for about 15 years and have actually told her several times not to assemble them. The lady has such selective hearing though. I still get a chocolate orange every few months as "a treat" because she knows how much I love them (every single one going into the bin as even the kids wont entertain them.)
It gets out of control sometimes, for example when she came to look after the kids while I gave birth to the baby. I could tell by the expression on Dad's face that I should brace myself.
3 bin-bags came out of the car. One even contained her bedding so she could "stay for a few weeks."
I won't even go into detail about the nightmare she was when I was in hospital giving birth and she was rearranging my house.
She fretted as she unpacked her bin-bags and didn't find the missing bacon. Dad found it a few weeks later, warm and smelling on the back seat of his car.
I know she means well and I know that I am an ungrateful bitch but I struggle so much to show gratitude for 15 years worth of "out of date" dark chocolate digestives delivered in a blue plastic carrier bag.
