On 20 September 2021 I posted:
Sunday evenings are infinitely improved with a bit of stabbing. I nearly made a couple of strawberries while Suranne Jones was getting into ever deeper water on board Vigil on BBC1.
And today my embroidery threads organiser box arrived so I’ve started sorting it out whilst in meetings, under MisoCat’s supervision, obviously.
When I spoke to Mum yesterday evening she knew that she’d been out and about with my brother, but mostly what she remembered is that it’s cold out there. So I’ve promised to take more warmer clothes to her at the weekend… which means more sewing WolffeLabels on to things.
It’s interesting how we label things isn’t it? Including ourselves.
For many years. although I loved my name and the history it brought with it, I resisted being the sister, the daughter, another Wolffe. I suppose that was less about the actual label and more about the context, and HATING being compared to others. To this day I feel uncomfortable with comparisons, I don’t have favourites and I don’t think I am competitive – in fact I resist competing, but perhaps that is also because I hate not winning. We’re complex creatures aren’t we?
Mum had us three children one after another. She always claimed that there was no point getting used to a good night’s sleep and then a few years later start all over again, with nappies and night feeds and all that jazz. So, she had Three Under Three. And I am that third one, after which she decided, ENOUGH.
One of the consequences of being so close in age is that at school, your teachers are all too aware of your two elder brothers and their achievements; and you will know that you are always being compared to them. And if they excel in what they do – both very different, one academic, the other sport, music and art – then you might find yourself striving to do something different to avoid those comparisons. I was clever enough, rubbish at most sports though I tried and I liked joining in. I enjoyed art, but wasn’t especially talented.
But in all these areas I never excelled in the way my brothers had.
Teachers back in the day would tell me this. And my response was to withdraw from trying… I knew that of course I was not as good as them, but with the benefit of hindsight, I wonder if perhaps a 13 year old Loïs was generally being judged against a 14 year old Andrew or a 15 year old James?
Anyway, I did science and maths, because neither of my brothers had, so I could plough my own furrow as they say. And I was good at it. My brain likes all that order, understands the art of mathematical equations. And someone had left an endowment for maths prizes at school, so I always got a bigger pile of books as prizes than either of my brothers. (Perhaps I am competitive after all).
In all of this, Mum had absolute clarity that we should not be compared to one another. And to this day we delight in her edict, “It’s not a competition” which can be used to great effect in a surprising number of circumstances!
I seem to have veered off my topic of ‘labels’. And also of the working title of this post ‘It’s cold out there’.
But I think I’ll stick with it. It is colder out there again now, after a mini heatwave. And somehow, my life seems temporarily colder… there are lots of decisions to be made, of practical activities to knuckle down and complete. And the longest lists you can imagine. I do love a list though, so that’s something.
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Thank you for reading this.
If you want to read more about my relationship with Mum and her dementia, then you could start here at Taking smock of the Situation. Or just dip in. After all, if I’ve learned anything this last few years it’s that chronology and time are less important than we might believe.
Finally, if it’s not too much to ask (I know, it is, apologies) I would really appreciate it if you could make a donation towards Alzheimer Scotland. They’re doing stuff that makes living with this more bearable for so many people. Thank you, thank you, a thousand thank yous.
Shewolfinthevalley 
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