Already

If you want a sure-fire way of knowing if someone is speaking British English or American English, listen to the way they use the word 'already'. It's largely to do with the positioning of the word in the sentence. If you asked the following question:

"Would you like me to tell you about the differences between the British and American positioning of the word 'already' in a sentence?"

you could anticipate the following two answers:

[from a Brit]

"No thanks - you already told me about them."

[from an American]

"No thanks - you told me about them already."

Actually, I think the Brit would say "you've already told me" rather than "you already told me", but that's another story.

In British English, we have more flexibility, because we don't have to put the word at the end of the sentence. So we could say

"No thanks - you've already told me about them" or "No thanks - you've told me already about them".

What we gain in flexibility however, we lose in extra meaning. American English can use the word to imply a judgement about the quality of something, as well as the timing of it. An example of this is the phrase 'Enough, already!' (which I think would probably always have an exclamation mark, so I've given it one). If I'm right, it's always used in the context of having had enough of something bad or annoying. This is what a mother says to her whining or arguing children. She wouldn't say it to someone scooping ice cream into a bowl for her - except perhaps with a wry laugh.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm coming to the conclusion that 'already' in American English usually has that sense of world-weariness or irritation about it.

Look at this book title.

You'd know that wasn't British English, wouldn't you?


Photo credit: Blobby Farm



Going back to our original question, I'm guessing that if an American responded to you "No thanks - you told me about those differences already", they would be politely implying "please don't think I want to hear about them again". If they really did just mean that you had  imparted your views on the subject at a previous point in time, they would probably say "No thanks - you told me about them once before".

I think this is one of those Americanisms that's becoming increasingly common over this side of the Atlantic. If you listen out, you will hear our friend 'already' sliding away to the end of the sentence. It's happening now, (or "right now", to use another Americanism). It's happening right now already.

And now I think that's enough about 'already' already.

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Why is Donald Trump going to ban this cheese?

Because he's going to make America grate again.

(Oh go on, you enjoyed that.)

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Staying home with a poorly child

This week, four out of five of my family have had a horrid fluey, achey, coldy, coughy bug. That's everyone except me. They had it in succession, like dominoes.

What is a normal expectation of an employer, regarding a parent with an ill child? It seems to me that it's such a grey area. I looked in our staff handbook, and it was a little vague, talking about responsibilities for dependants, and if time off was needed, to please try and give as much notice as possible. Yeah, right. Like flu bugs come along on a schedule.

I just don't know what is reasonable to expect these days. Is it standard practice, would you say, that a parent can phone up in the morning and take a day's sick leave to look after an ill child, as if they were ill themselves? Is it standard practice that they can phone up the next day and take another day? How many days in a row would be accepted without raised eyebrows?

I feel I'm pretty conscientious. As it turned out, I needed only to be at home for two days. I split one of the days with Husband, working in the morning and coming home at lunchtime. The other day, I went in first thing and picked up work I could do at home. It just so happened that one of the days I was off was a particularly bad day to be off. But these things happen, and I feel I really tried my best. I was in the workplace as much as I reasonably could be, and I made good use of the time when I had to be at home (actually, I would say I was more efficient than usual, but the whole working-at-home debate is for another day). I have been left, however, with indications that I was at the limit of what was acceptable.

I clearly need to talk about this with my manager, and I do have my annual review next week, which is a good forum because we can talk about the policy and practice, rather than one specific incident. The culture of the organisation isn't particularly family-friendly, but I hadn't been aware of quite how family-unfriendly it is. I've just been lucky that we've had a pretty healthy time since I've been in the job, and when a child has been ill, either Husband has been able to stay at home, or the child has been old enough and well enough to stay on their own with frequent texts to make sure that they are ok. (I didn't like doing that, but I guess I picked up the culture fairly quickly and realised that I had to save my credits for when I really needed them.)

I would like the process to work on trust. As I say, I feel I went out of my way to continue as best I could. However, I sense that I might be coming from a very different angle to my manager, and that's why I would like a few opinions on what is standard practice these days. Or does it vary hugely? I'm interested to know.

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Notes on a notebook

Nappy Valley Girl asked me, in her comment on my last post, if I always write blog posts in a notebook, and the answer is no. I rarely do so. I usually type them on the computer. I do, however, have notebooks that I used for writing at the time when I was blogging a lot. I didn't use them very much, so there's not a lot in them, but there are a few half-written posts, or thoughts scribbled down for future mulling over.

I kept one in the car, in the driver's door pocket, a big A4 size one, hardback, and sometimes I'd write when I was waiting to pick up a child, or killing time in a car park for some other reason (looking at you, soccer training). There were others that I took on journeys, A5 size, travel handbag size. There's a really nice leather-bound one, which I remember initially feeling was rather too nice to write in at all! Notebooks were for blogging on the go. This was in the days before smart phones (though I find it really hard to write more than a very short email on a phone, so that wouldn't have helped).

Then there was this little notebook, the one from which I was copying out my last post. It's mobile-phone-sized, and lovely to look at. (Sorry, not a very good photo.)

I have a soft spot for this one. It's not mine; it belongs to Husband. It was a present from a friend of ours, when I was diagnosed with cancer. She gave it to him, saying that he should take it along when accompanying me to medical appointments. It would be helpful to write a list of questions in advance, and to note down what the doctor said. She was so right on both counts. What a very kind, thoughtful, and practical present.

I came across the notebook last week when I was looking for one to take to a work meeting that I was going to from home. It was too small and flowery to be suitable for that, but I started leafing through it. It tells the story of those very intense few weeks, mostly in Husband's handwriting. There's a careful list of phone numbers (how many kind people rallied!). There are 'To Do' lists, including one titled "Thurs Eve", which must have been for the day I had my mastectomy, judging by the things on it (three phone calls to make, feed hamster, and e-mail friends/family). There are a few pages ruled into sections to make a diary, with notes of places the children had to be, and if someone was going to pick them up. I like the entry that reads "J will collect at 9am - go to donuts and then the zoo". I bet that was a fun day for them! There is a list of questions, in my handwriting this time, about Kindergarten - I'd obviously felt the need to send Husband along to an open evening suitably briefed. ("What writing do they teach, and in what grades? Cursive? Sports? How many times a week do they do PE? Music? Other non-American children? Homework? Playground - have a look.") There are lists of questions for doctors, and hastily scribbled answers -  the lists that the notebook was intended for. Lists that give me a bit of a jolt when I read them. Lists that contain "pain meds, steroids, nightmares, can I expect similar pattern next time?" And then there are my thoughts on blogging and writing, that you saw in my previous post. I don't remember where or when I wrote those. I know it was a few months later, because it comes after another, jollier, list, one planning a child's birthday party ("no 2 o'clocks available, balloons $12 doz, hot dogs or pizza, tell Jeanne 2.30 - 4.15").

Remember the idea of a notebook. It's a lovely thing to give someone going through a medical crisis, should you find yourself wondering what to give a friend in that situation.

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Old thoughts on blogging

I came across a little notebook the other day. It dates back to 2009, when I was blogging away for dear life. There's a blog post in it, which I remember writing. I didn't publish it, because it wasn't finished. It didn't express what I wanted to say - not quite, anyway. Re-reading it now, I find I like it. It doesn't say all I wanted to say, but it does say something. I thought you'd like to read it.

"One thing that blogging has taught me is how powerful the process of writing is. There is something about thinking carefully what words you choose to frame an experience that helps to make sense of it. Or at least to live with the non-sense of it. I have found, too, that words can help you re-frame an experience. It can be like looking at an object from different angles. 

A bowl of fruit, for example, to an artist is the material for a still life painting. To a chef, it's a stock of juicy ingredients. To a mother, it's a burden of healthy food to be coaxed into the mouths of recalcitrant children. Writing is a tool with which I see things in different ways, and the seeing can be a becoming. Just as the bowl of fruit can become different things, though it remains the same, so life's experiences can morph into different shades and colours.

Does any of that make sense?"

That is what I wrote, and though it wasn't finished, I would say to my seven-years-younger self, yes, I think some of that does make sense.

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Christmas after cancer

Those of you who've followed my blog for a while might remember that I love Christmas. I really do. And since I had cancer, I love it even more. Each one that comes round, I think to myself "This might not have been". This is the seventh Christmas since I had cancer, and I've felt it every year, but I don't think I've ever been brave enough to write it - at least not quite so plainly.

The odd thing is, you would imagine that such feelings would tow along anxiety, fears for the future, panic. And yes, those moments come too. I know I sometimes place an unhealthy load onto events, because the desire to create memories gets out of balance with the ability to live in the present. But mostly, "This might not have been" brings in its wake a warmth, a stillness, and a sense of depth.

Last Sunday, for example, we headed off to get our Christmas tree. We go to same farm, where there's an excruciatingly delicious farm shop and cafe. We've got our tree from there three years running now, so I think that counts as a family tradition. We headed out of the city (only a 15 minute drive, though - I can't tell you how much I love living in a small city...). Desert Island Discs was on the radio, and Kylie Minogue was the castaway. She talked a little about her experience of breast cancer, and one of her discs was a recording of her boyfriend reading a poem full of emotion, so I suppose I was primed. As we turned off the main road towards the farm, the view of the valley emerged before us, and was a picture of absolute beauty. Mist lay in the valley, but you could see dark shapes poking up through it - treetops, hedges, farm buildings. If you'd painted the scene, it would have been all greys and whites, and probably impossible to capture.  It was winter at its most imaginative, and I think I gasped out loud. We'd left a dirty, damp, grey city, but when we got out of the car here in the countryside, the ground was frosty hard underfoot, and the air was crisp. A perfect Christmas moment. A moment that might not have been.

I tread carefully as I write this. Christmas is a time of painful memories, and thoughts of loss, for so many. There are plenty of blog posts out there to remind me of that. I've had my poignant Christmases too - my first as a mother, stuffing a stocking for a 7-month old baby who had no clue what we were doing, was also my first without my father, and there will no doubt be more to come. But in this chapter of life, each Christmas brings joy and peace and thanksgiving for all that is for me, that might not have been.

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Choosing baby names in the digital age

It was all so much easier when I was choosing baby names. You liked a name and wrote it on a list. Or you had a book of names, and you flicked through it. Now, you can get websites to generate names for you, and avail yourself of naming wizards, and really, you only have yourself to blame if you don't find the perfect name.

Another consideration, these days, is the digital form your baby's name will take. You might take less pleasure in calling your new baby Katharine, for example, if you thought she'd be signing herself K8, or K8EE. I really liked the name Elsie, but now I'm glad I didn't choose it. It lends itself too easily to LC.

Any name that ends in an x (Beatrix, Max, Felix... there are some great ones in this category), now looks to me like it's got a kiss at the end of it, somehow.

Then there's the pitfall of the autocorrect. I have a friend with a son named Fingal, and every time I text her, I'm in severe danger of enquiring how Fungal is.

Anyone else with any stories of autocorrect woes, in the area of names?

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