Christmas 2013

Dear all,

2013 was a truly fruitful year for the Sparkes. In addition to a fun-packed roller coaster of failing white goods, plaster cracks and blocked gutters, the house had plumbing issues that left water marks all over our kitchen ceiling. People often caught themselves rolling their eyes heavenward at the table and then staring in fascination at the Rorschach pattern above while we sat in suspense awaiting the end of their anecdote. They’d lose their train of thought and we’d never learn what happened to the Pole or the Irishman in the tale.

Lest we forget, Alex and Emily caught nits off each other for a few weeks. Back and forth and back and forth until we cracked their “secret sibling head rub” game. Then there was the “What does Fox Say” incident when zany Norwegian band Ylvis hit a gazillion whatnots on YouTube with a song by that title. We, logically enough, assumed Alex was yelling at his sister “what the f%$k are you saying???” and banned him from opening his mouth ever again. And no, he does not have unsupervised computer time, it was just there, suspended in the ether, and all the kids in his class seemed to be singing it by osmosis or something. Those fandangled “pooters” get my goat.

Alex is at an age where he doesn’t know whether he wants a build-a-bear or an ipod for Christmas. Emily is more focused on wanting to see loads of age inappropriate apparel under the tree better suited to the Moulin Rouge than West London. What does an 8 year old need with a tutu, leg warmers, flamenco shoes and a bikini top trimmed with marabou feathers, I ask you?

This leaves me somewhat trapped between my mother and daughter as the sartorially challenged Jessica Fletcher of “Murder She Wrote” sandwiched between Emily’s confections at one extreme and my mother’s fabulous sense of colour and style. Those of you who attended our wedding still talk about “THE” hat.
Emily demanded a lot of answers this year and I had to fess up to Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny and exactly how the daddy’s seed gets to the Mummy. Through it all, she remained sanguine until it dawned on her that the exchange rate meant losing teeth to the euro tooth fairy was a far less interesting proposition than to her Sterling counterpart in London.

Most of the time, Andrew and I just ride their quirkiness out and try not to fixate too much on the inherent contradictions of the pre-adolescent. When things get stressful with Alex, for example, I remind myself that I have an arsenal of secret weapons at my disposal such as standing at the school gates at drop off sign languaging “I love you my little bunny-wunny” as he files into 5th grade.
Andrew has been busy working on three businesses and most recently a recipe aggregation app called Zest. When home, he commandeers the kitchen table working late, typing furiously on the ipad, yelling his opinions at Radio Four during Women’s Hour, taking calls around the clock and responding to emails while whipping up a family supper.

My work is going fine and I am hoping to have my book out early this year. I know you’ve heard this all before but this time, I really really mean it. Enter “Cynthia Coleman Sparke” on Amazon and you’ll at least see what will neither be the cover nor the pub date.

But enough about us. We hope you are well and merry, wherever the season finds you.

All our love,

The Sparke Family

Drop us a line with your news on cynthia@coleman-consulting.co.uk and/or andrew@iskratv.com