Beavers xxx 

At work, I’m always telling people to keep me busy or I’ll get myself into trouble. They think I’m joking, but quite frankly it’s true and the same can be said of my children, especially Harry, therefore we are always on the lookout for new ventures. 

One of the lovely Mums at school told us the cubs their son goes to is blooming brilliant, she might not have used those exact words.

Chatted it over with the Twinkles and they thought it seemed like a good idea too, so off I went and filled in the registration form. Well tried to anyway, but the pesky thing would only let me complete it once as it wasn’t set up for children with the same birthday and parents! As far as we knew Harry was on the waiting list.

On one of my early morning calls to Lou “la belle” she suggested I give them a call to chase it up as this had helped getting her girls into Brownies. 

That evening I scoured the internet for a number. I didn’t find one, but I completed a contact form, added them on Facebook and not content I’d stalked them enough, sent a message on messenger. 

To my surprise I saw the trumpet going. Explanation = to me, when someone is typing me a message on Teams or Messenger the little dots go up and down and make me think of someone playing a trumpet.

Well blow me down with a feather if there wasn’t a live person at the end of the message asking how they could help. 

I got a bit overwhelmed, excited and typed a load of waffle about them being a real person. Of course I added a load of happy emojis to which they asked again if they could help. 

All business like and professional again I requested they check if my twins were both on the waiting list for cubs. 

They were. 

I also added that I’d ticked the box to say I was not available to volunteer, but the boys had found out and this was not our agreement. Silly me for thinking this might be the first activity I could drop them off at and leave.

Don’t worry, I am grateful they feel this way and will cherish it while it lasts, for the most part. 

Ooh, interesting was the response.

So off I went again with the psychobabble without even being asked. I told the messenger page I was DBS checked, had safeguarding, teacher training, SEN experience, my mum was a Beaver leader and I used to help out.  

Yes I was available for a call. 

A jolly nice lady called me, I want to say her name was Gemma. She just happened to be the district leader. To which my stupid mouth told her that I would have curtsied if we were in person!

She explained there were going to be places available in the new year and I didn’t have to volunteer to get the boys in. 

I came off the call 30 minutes later having been told to expect a welcome pack and some required training for when I start as a leader?!

Oops, how did that happen? 

Yes the boys are starting too, I won’t be going without them. 

I asked the boys how they felt about it and they were both very excited. Harry did feel the need to add, just pretend you’re not our Mum. 

My Mum was a Beaver leader, that always makes me giggle. I also still have her woggle. The first time I cried at her funeral was when a few scouting leaders approached her coffin dressed in uniform and saluted her, I was so proud. 

Upon telling my husband this story later I had to reassure him I wasn’t just doing it for a good send off!

I asked my Dad and my brothers if they could remember mums scouting name, none of us can. It would be nice if I could use the same one. 

I scrolled through the contacts on my mobile and sure enough there was Jeanette who my mum had volunteered with. We have not spoken in about 13 years. Never one to let time or distance put me off, I sent her a message saying, hi 👋, is this Jeanette the Beaver leader?

Turns out it wasn’t, it was Jeanette who we bought our house off. Well that must have been a bit surreal for her! 

Back to the drawing board!

Storm Darragh is blowing a hoolie outside. For those interested and not in the know, the phrase “blowing a hoolie” is likely derived from the Orkney Scots word “hoolan,” which means a strong gale, and the Irish word “hooley,” which means a noisy party. The phrase compares a noisy wind to a rowdy party. 

As my Dad just typed, A day for comfort food, a good book before a fire and a dog by your side. ❤️🐻🌈

Love and hugs, kisses and wishes xxx