Happy 1st Birthday Lyla-Mae

. . . y'know this is one of the few times I have been lost for words.  As I write this, you are just one year old today, but I'm afraid that me and your mommy had a . . . we'll say 'disagreement', and unfortunately I have no way of getting this to you as an actual book - which my good friend Anna was going to illustrate - for your special day. 

So, even though me and your mommy stopped talking months before your first birthday, I decided that I would finish my present which I put a lot of time, effort and thought into creating as a blog, with all the chapters included.  I've tagged your name too, and the many many spellings and sir-names / potential sir-names you could have, so maybe one day you will be googling your own name (don't feel bad, we've all done it) and happen to stumble across this silly little story . . . . oh wait . . . maybe when you are old enough to use a computer 'google' won't be around; you'll have to wikipediia what google is in that case (unless wikipedia isn't around.  Mind = blown).

I will be honest, I had been dreading this day, I've been glum and what people call 'emo' throughout (ask your mommy what 'emo' means) but I ended up being on the receiving end of a rather blunt exchange with someone who means a great deal to me, and she was right; although I doubt we will ever see each other, it is nothing to be miserable over, and instead I should be thankful to have had you to amuse me while me and your mommy were very close.

Now, you might ask, "how can a baby be a source of entertainment?" Well, allow me to elaborate with the following picture;

That's you as a buba, jus' having a merry time chillin' in your bear onesie (I did see if I could get a similar outfit myself, but alas, they don't do my size).

Here are some other hilarious moments of yours.

- your mommy was driving you to a day-care centre, and got a bit hungry on the way.  As you were fast asleep, she jumped out of her car to buy herself a little cake.  As she got back to the car, she saw that you were still away to the world, and so got back in the car really quietly, put her seatbelt on with a loud click - which you slept through - but the second the cake wrapper rustled you instantly woke up and happily screamed "CAKE!"

So she reluctantly had to give you a bit of cake to keep you happy.

- a similar incident.  You were sat in your highchair, and your mommy popped out of the room for just a few moments, came back, and found that you were inexplicably covered in jam from head to toe with a big grin on your face.

But the ultimate has to be your favourite song . . . 

I can still remember exactly when your mommy phoned me up in and did her seagull-witch laugh because you fell in love with the most inappropriate of songs, and would clap and giggle and kick your little legs merrily to.  Miss Lyla-Mae, this was your favourite song as a wee buba;

 

I've just realised how rude I have been, I haven't even introduced myself.  I'm Michael, and years and years ago me and your mommy (gah!  I hate using the American spelling, but since both you and her are American I can justify tolerating it) used to be really close friends, but now we don't talk anymore and probably never will do again.  Unfortunately, that means I will not get to hear of all the silly things you get up to.  It saddens me to think that you won't remember me, but it brings a smile to my face when your mommy told me - just a few days before we fell out - that you could apparently recognise me and would point at pictures at me and giggle (in all honesty, I get that reaction a lot from females) and you would try to say my name, but pronounced it as 'Meeka'.

As I write this, in four months time you will have your own little brother or sister, which is exciting news for you.  I don't know what name your mommy settled on, but the last I heard it was 'Riley' (boy) or Violet' (girl), with the middle name as 'Alabama ', so when you read this, will you please either (a) pass on my commiserations to your sibling about them being bestowed with a more embarrassing middle name than my own 'Duncan James', or (b) tell them that they should be eternally grateful their mommy changed her mind.  I know you will be a good big sister, and I genuinely hope that your mommy and your daddy Joe got back together so you can all have a nice happy family. 

Well Lyla, I hope you enjoy the story of Volbert the Mole, which I wrote just for you, and whilst you won't ever remember me, I'll never forget you.

Your Best Friend Forever,

Meeka

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was either very late or very early by the time Volbert the mole had finished his work, shuffling and sneaking around in the dimly lit streets of the small village.  All he knew was it was dark, and it was cold, and he had found only a few things he could take to add to his collection.  The thick black clouds overhead had just started to drop little white flecks of snow all over the village, and with that, he decided, it was time to go home. 

Wrapping his oversized hands softly around the handles of the black bicycle with the wonky wheels and putting the rest of the scrap in his sack, he left the sleeping village, crossed the fields that now glowed with white powdery snow, and eventually he came to the secret door.  In all honesty, the door was not much of a secret; it was a big round thing made of oak, and it was built into the side of the hill.  In fact, the only thing that made it a secret was that there was no reason for anyone to walk over this way.  Of course, whilst finding the door would be relatively easy, getting into his house was not, because Volbert was no ordinary mole (you may have already noticed this, since he has a front door to his house, walks around villages at night and steals bicycles). Volbert was a magical mole, and with just a twitch of his pointy nose and a shake of his sausage fingers, Volbert could make amazing magical spells.  Every night (or morning, whichever the case may be) before Volbert goes to sleep, he shakes his fingers, twitches his nose, and the door to his house becomes just a door leading to nowhere; anyone who finds it and opens it would just see the other side of the hill, like it was just resting in the dirt. 

He pulled the large door open, and carelessly rolled the bicycle through the gaping hole.  The snow was coming down very heavily now, and he shook it off his patchwork cloak.  Stifling a yawn with the back of one big hand, he thought of how much fun the children of Daisyfield will have playing in the snow.  He smiled to himself, but it was a sad smile.  Volbert had never played in the snow before . . . Volbert had never really played with anyone before; he was always too big to play with other little moles (not that Volbert had ever been little) and the children would be scared of him . . . probably the  grown-ups would be too.

He picked up the black bicycle with the wonky wheels once more, and shuffled along the completely black corridor (which, with his mole eyes, he could see perfectly in) towards the orange glow coming from the end, where the main room was.  Once entering the living room, he took off his patchwork cape and hung it on a tree-root peg.  The air that came into his house with him had woken up the embers of the fire, but Volbert flicked another log onto it with his foot (it was a very cold night).  He made his way to the pyramid of junk that filled the middle of the room; half-broken cups here, a bent spoon there, broken oil lamps, a rocking horse that didn’t rock and a light bulb with no light and no bulb were just a few of the oddities he had collected on his visits to Daisyfield.  He always found it incredible how much perfectly good stuff people threw away as rubbish.

He rested the black bicycle with wonky wheels against the mountain, and removed from his shoulder sack a copper kettle and a battered brass birdcage.  He looked fondly at his collection of ‘junk’ the humans had basically given to him; one day he would get around to repairing everything and returning it all as good as it was new – he would! He promised himself . . . but right now, the fire was warm, and he was cold, and his chair was comfy, and his feet were sore, and he was so very tired.  Shuffling clumsily over to his tattered armchair, he slumped into it, and folded one leg over the other.  Did I lock the door? he thought drowsily to himself.  Oddly, his last awake thoughts were of the children playing in the snow.  He thought to himself how much fun it would be to throw a snowball . . . but then thought about how unfunny it would be to be hit with a snowball.  His tired eyes looked around the room.  

With the glow of the fire, he could make out the shape of Morris, the old grey badger, curled up asleep inside a giant black cooking pot tipped on its side.  Over there, a big red bushy tail fountaining out of a chipped blue and white striped mug gave away Flake the squirrel’s sleeping place.  On a pile of worn out rugs close to the fire rested Millie the fox.  How could Volbert feel lonely, when he had all of his friends living with him?  With a silly smile, one more yawn, and asking himself once more whether he had remembered to lock the door (and then convinced himself that he had), Volbert pulled the knitted blanket over his big body, and fell asleep by the fire.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was a bright day in Daisyfield, but the day’s sun had no warmth.  Instead, the children of the quaint little village were wrapped in scarves, coats, hats and gloves in all manner of colours and checks and stripes and polka-dots that it hurt the eyes to look at them for too long.  It was winter, and the snow had fallen as far as the eye could see, the hills looked like a blanket of ice-cream.  Of course, like any self-respecting child, Lyla-Mae was dragging her sledge to the top of the biggest hill (and not because she thought it looked like ice-cream!)  No, she was going to do what no other child in Daisyfield had done before; she was going to ride her sledge as fast as she could all the way down Hairy Hill - quite why it was called Hairy Hill, no one knew . . . or asked too closely, but still, Hairy Hill was its name, and it was the biggest hill around.

She marched up the slope, in one hand she held onto the sledge’s string and Teddy Radson (looking as dapper as always in his fetching blue suit), and in the other she held the hand of Esther the purple hippo, her ears making a crinkly noise every time the wind rustled them.  Her black boots (which were both big and small at the same time, if that is possible) made the snow crunch pleasingly beneath every foot-fall.  Her legs were getting tired from all this stomping – Hairy Hill was big, but even bigger to Lyla-Mae, who is only small – but if there is one thing Lyla-Mae isn’t, it’s a coward.  “Stupid Toby,” she grumbled to herself as she kept going up and up and up. “Stupid boys!”

Puffing and panting ten steps behind her was Toby, so chubby he was almost a perfect circle.  His face was beetroot red from the walk, and despite the cold weather, he was pumping with sweat.  “I heard that Lyla, I’m telling on you,” he whined (it seems Lyla-Mae didn’t keep her grumbling entirely to herself after all!)  Toby was the mayor of Daisyfield’s son, and because of this he thought he was the best and most important of all the children in Daisyfield, and was boasting about how he was the bravest of them all.  Well, obviously this did not sit well with Lyla-Mae, who takes too much after her mommy sometimes.  So Lyla-Mae being Lyla-Mae, she challenged Toby to prove who was the bravest child in all of Daisyfield by sledging as fast as they could down Hairy Hill.

Finally, she got to the summit.  Toby was still some way behind, his stumpy legs were moving so slowly it looked like he was swimming through treacle.  Taking a few deep breaths, she looked back at Daisyfield.  It looked so small from up here, but she could see her and mommy’s house, with cotton wool snow thick on the roof.  The chimney was giving out smoke, the fire was going.  It will be nice to be sat in front of the fire with a lovely cup of bubble tea and a slice of cake after I have won, Lyla thought to herself . . . she just wished Toby would move faster and get to the top of the hill so she could win faster – it was cold, and her little nose had gone all red and sniffly. 

Eventually, after what seemed a millennium, Toby had caught her up at the top of Hairy Hill.  He looked down, and seemed startled as to how high up they were.  The children at the bottom looked like specks of soot on a blank white canvass. 

“Let ready to lose, Lyla!” Toby jeered breathlessly, sticking out his tongue.

“You can take that back when we get to the bottom,” replied Lyla-Mae.

And that, the two of them ran (well, Lyla-Mae ran; Toby more sort of galumphed) to the edge of Hairy Hill, put their sledges down, sat on top of them, and after making sure her cuddly toys were all safely in (Esther sat at the front, Teddy Radson was second-in-line, and then sat Lyla-Mae) they were off!  The big race to see who was the bravest child in all of Daisyfield had begun!

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Toby had somehow got off to a better start than Lyla-Mae; she suspected it had something to do with gravity having more of an effect on heavier things (I forgot to mention that Lyla-Mae was a very clever child, but it is a good idea to bare this in mind) but she would have to ask mommy later (who was also very clever).  Remembering what her mommy had taught her about sledging, Lyla-Mae leaned backwards – as did Esther and Teddy Radson, but mainly from the onrush of air - and sure enough, she gathered up a lot of speed, her mousy hair and scarf-tails streaming behind her like a knight’s banner charging into battle. Esther’s and Teddy Radson’s hands were in the air, they were enjoying the race too!

 Toby was in front by about ten grown-up steps, but Lyla-Mae was closing in fast.  The world seemed to bend slightly with how fast she was going; the sparse clumps of trees flew by, and she could make out the shouting from the children below now.  None of that mattered, of course – Lyla-Mae kept her eyes on Toby the entire time, who she was just about to overtake.

Surprised to see her suddenly appear next to her, Toby sort of bounced in his seat.

“What are you doing?  How did you do that? You are cheating!” whined Toby in a high-pitched girl voice.

“Who is the bravest?” Lyla-Mae goaded, with a smug smile beaming all across her little face.  And with that, she overtook Toby.

Or she should have, but what happened next was anyone’s guess!  She felt something heavy push against the back of her wooden sledge.  With how fast she was going, it threw her completely off course, and she was now hurtling uncontrollably down Hairy Hill towards a bunch of big rocks half-buried in the snow!

She panicked; like any self-respecting child, she had suffered the scraped knee and the knocked elbow, but hitting a bunch of rocks at a fast speed on a sledge . . . well, that’s going to hurt!  She struggled with the sledge, trying desperately to change course, but it didn’t work.  Just a few seconds before she would crash, she clutched Teddy Radson and Esther close to her, covered both her eyes with her hands and . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 *creak-THUD*

After what seemed an age, she realised that the sledge was no longer moving.  It had stopped. Have I crashed, she thought to herself.  There was a thud noise, and a bit of a bump, but also a strange creak noise . . . finally, she decided the only way to find out whether she had crashed straight into some rocks or not was to take her hands away from her eyes and look.  Slowly, ever so slowly, she parted her fingers and peaked through.  Where she was looked nothing like where she was meant to smack into! 

She was sat in the middle of a dark tunnel, with light coming from the hole in the top of the tunnel.  The sledge was underneath her, so was a pile of snow.  She stood up, probably a bit too soon, as her legs were like jelly, and her bottom hurt from the fall.  She looked up at the perfectly round hole in the roof.  She could make out the scattered rocks, she had only been about two grown-up steps away from crashing.  What was this tunnel she had fallen into?  Looking around again, she noticed that, attached to the edge of the hole was a big round wooden door with large brass hinges.  That must be it, she thought to herself, pleased to end the puzzle.  There was a door leading from the ground into this tunnel (which was very peculiar, but right then Lyla did not particularly care) and she was lucky enough to have sledged onto it, and it must have opened and dropped her through!

Looking around once more, she wondered to herself whether she really was lucky.  She suddenly realised that she couldn’t climb back out of the hole in the ceiling . . . and it also came to her that she had not won the race to become the bravest child in Daisyfield!  She didn’t know which one upset her more.  Still, she was in one piece, and managed to swap the probability of broken bones to the reality of a bruised bottom . . . it seemed a fair deal, she thought to herself with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. 

A tunnel, she thought aloud to herself, touching her chin thoughtfully with one mittened hand, must lead from somewhere . . . and to somewhere.  With that, she placed Esther and Teddy Radson back in the sledge, grabbed the reins and started out, but after a few steps, she noticed the sledge didn’t move properly.  It was hard to see in the darkness, so she ran her little hands along the sledge’s runners.  Yep!  There we go, it was pretty badly damaged from the fall, and the runners were bent out of shape.  Mommy is going to be so mad, she thought glumly.  All she could do right now though, was to keep walking through the dark tunnel.  She noticed a strange orange glow coming from the very end . . . and headed towards it.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

With her left hand running along the wall, fumbling the ice cold dirt, and her right hand pulling the sledge along behind her, Lyla-Mae cautiously made her way towards the orange glow at the end of the long corridor.  As she got closer, she noticed it got warmer, and her little nose started to tingle.  She rubbed at it with her left hand, taking it off the dirt wall, and instantly caught her boots on a half-buried tree root and fell over with a loud crump that echoed loudly down the strange hallway. 

As she lay face down in the dirt, she thought she heard a noise echoing back towards her from the other end of the tunnel, it sounded like snoring, or at least heavy breathing, but this was . . . louder, and deeper.  She furrowed her forehead in puzzlement; it sounded like someone was ripping bed-sheets behind a closed door. 

Little Lyla-Mae noticed two more things once she was upright, for she was an inquisitive little creature.  The first thing was that the strange orange glow flickered and danced against the dark stage of the earthen wall; with the warmth coming from where the source was, it could only be a fire!  Now that was a happy thought. 

The second thing she noticed, however, was not a happy thought . . . dusting herself off as best she could, even the limited light in the tunnel could not hide the muddy patches on her knees - mommy is going to be even more mad, now; she began to re-think how nice it would be to be sat with her teddies and a nice cup of bubble tea by the fire, because she would be told off first.  Still, it could have been worse, Lyla-Mae mused; at least she hadn’t got Esther and Teddy Radson dirty. That would mean one smacked bottom! But that would have to wait, because she could still be sat in front of a fire, even if not the one in her own house.

Reaching out into the gloom with her left hand, her fingers lightly rested against the icy cold earth.  Taking up the reigns of the sledge, she walked on, her knees as sore as her bottom, towards the light, heat, and the very peculiar noise.