Letters To Peanut – A Highland Tale

Dear Peanut

Holidays are great. Adventure on its way, a long drive and lots of stops to admire various sites and give you a chance to stretch your legs and waddle about.

This is the second time in your life you went to the Highlands and this time to a sleepy village of Glenelg. A magic place hidden between bottle green and mustard brown hills and the misty Isle of Skye.

One Saturday morning we compacted our life into a couple of rucksacks and IKEA bags (mainly filled with toys and nappies) and set off to stay in a cottage that once belonged to the Forestry Commission. A cosy red wooden house surrounded by shrubs.

It had a big wild garden that you loved inspecting every morning after breakfast and at least once an hour after that, just in case the grumpy hen or the funny black cat came back to use the rose patch as a toilet. At the foot of a neighbouring hill we found two rocks that looked like speckled eggs left behind by a giant grouse.

You are a bit like your mum – you want to run before you can walk which results in bumps and bruises, an occasional tear and of course lots of cuddles so we ran lots and we walked even more and we made friends with the local sheep.

It is important to take time out of the busy life every now and then and we did it well, with smells of home cooked food filling the cottage every evening and discovering hidden gems like wild meadows, a black sand beach and a row of stern hills. And don’t forget a few playful seals.

I have captured a few memories for you to look back at one day – maybe you will remember those dreamlike holidays when you are half way up your first munro that has a lisping Gaelic name.


Swollen skies, surging streams
I point at a tree
You shake the rain out of it

A seal plays peekaboo in see-saw waters
The boat rocks and I pray to the gods of mighty seas
You bark and I tighten my squeeze

A Highland Tale

in a glen of steaming hills
dragon feet rest

a duvet of lime moss and purple heather
shields them against dreich Highland weather

said feet and their owners long forgotten
when other mythical beasts
left as time and people cut their way
through the bushy mists

we tread gently

let the fierce creatures sleep in peace
like they have done for thousands of years

or at least


you hate
the look of a tree
your dad’s warm words
and my honest hand

the dragons blink to wild screams
of the one and only banshee
brought back to torment their dreams

they sigh
they snap
they flee

SAM_1899 SAM_1898 SAM_1897

Prose for Thought

Haiku VI

Dear Peanut

This week is all about language.  Your first words that sound more and more ‘real’ and less like baby babble (which I find very adorable by the way).

Everyday we listen to you commenting on the food and demanding Unidentified Forbidden Objects.  You get frustrated when we don’t understand what you want – sorry wee man.  Sometimes we get it wrong.

You are growing up surrounded by two cultures and languages and I joke that you will be phonetically confused for a while.  On one end of the spectrum – the pesky English sounds of th and ph.  On the other end – Polish surging sz, cz and szcz as in szczcescie (luck in Polish).

I may be biased but your little voice is the cutest I have ever heard (even when you throw a tantrum – see below).


Mum xxx


zis, yis, ahmam

your first words

busy swallows in your mouth


torrential tears, furrowed face

furious frog on the floor

my No – your sprawl


my keys, my phone, my time

my toast, my drink, my love

Dat  is for what’s yours is mine

copyright BlueBeretMum