musingsponderingsandrants

Parenting, profundities and humour

Category: Parenting

It’s Lonely Out Here in Glitter Land… — December 6, 2015

It’s Lonely Out Here in Glitter Land…

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I think these were from 2012

My children and I have this tradition. Well we have many and at this time of year, at the very beginning of Advent, we have a huge amount. Christingle, decorating the house so it looks like a cheap grotto,  Advent calendars without chocolate, making reindeer food etc. But the particular tradition I am meaning here is the making of cards for teachers and close relatives.

Every year I convince myself that what every Primary teacher really, really wants is a card lovingly handmade by their pupil. Maybe with a thoughtful handwritten message, complete with poor spelling and illegible writing. And not a bottle of wine.

I am probably wrong. It is probably me that would really like a handmade card complete with a poorly spelt but loving message. And in a master stroke of psychology I am persuaded that others would like this too. Preferably with glitter.

Nothing says  to me ‘I appreciate you’ more than effort. And time. And so that is what we try to do for those important people in my children’s lives. Take time and make effort.

Every year I come up with an age appropriate card making activity. I have to confess that this is not a totally altruistic act on my part. I am quite crafty. In a glue, paper cutting, glittery way. Life does not contain enough opportunities to undertake such activities. And so this one is very welcome.

When my three were little it was hard to manage their enthusiasm. It was safe to say that the finished products certainly looked home made. I was often a wreck of stress uttering  phrases like ‘No its your brothers turn!’ and ‘Please don’t use the glitter whilst your brother is spraying me with gold paint!’ and ‘Try to keep the glue on the card and not on the carpet/ table/ your hair’ and such like.

We had to form queues for each to ‘have their go’. There was a scramble to make those odd cards for godparents.

Then last year the reluctance set in.  Well certainly amongst Eldest and Middlest. Instead of making one card each for every relative they made only  one to send signed by all three of them. And even then Youngest made the lion’s share.

This year I have come up with an activity that most people would find hard to resist. I wanted something that would attract even Eldest. Therefore it needed to be messy. And quick. Some of those card recipients will be reading this so I am not going to elaborate further. Well, OK, it involves paint…and a toothbrush…and glitter….

I have cut out templates and cards and had a dry (well wet and messy but you know what I mean) run. And Youngest has come down and made one card. The others cannot be persuaded away from Minecraft.

So there it is. Is there a sadder sight than a mother sat at her newspaper covered table surrounded by bits of card and paint. But completely lacking in children.

I miss those enthusiastic years. A lot.

The teachers will probably be pleased with the Pinot Grigo though….

I made those….in case you thought my 8 year old was a genius with the scissors…

Hair Raising — November 29, 2015

Hair Raising

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Youngest has a lot of hair. And I mean a lot.

She was born with a fairly large quantity of dark hair, just as her eldest brother had been. It grew steadily. For the first few months of her life her hair defied gravity and grew straight up.

Eventually the weight of her hair meant it was no longer able perform such a feat and it fell into a cute sort of bob.

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Over the following years it grew and grew and got fairer and by the time she started school it was half way down her back. She had her first proper cut as one of the last things we did together before she left preschool.

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When washed and dried it is ram rod straight, just like mine. But usually it is  wavy. And that is because it is always plaited.

Her hair is never ‘down’. For several reasons.

  1. She doesn’t like it down unless she is going to a school disco or eating dinner at a posh foreign hotel.
  2. I am paranoid about nits.
  3. She plays a lot of sport and it gets in the way.
  4. School does not allow such long hair to roam free (probably partly because of reason 2 but also for safety reasons). And…
  5. It is almost impossible to brush when it has been safely reigned in in plaits never mind when it has been blown free in the wind.

And so her default style is two pigtails. Unless it is a swimming day when we do one pigtail.  She also sleeps in one pigtail. To avoid suffocation.

Even so twice a day we have the torment of brushing her hair.

She creates. She screams. She complains.

Yesterday when I tried to get the detangler brush through the ends it was solid with knots. I asked her what she had got in it. She was not sure but knew it was some sort of foodstuff. How? Because she had had to scrape it out after lunch. We narrowed it down to carbonara or jam roly poly. Trust me neither is great in hair. We had to resort to the spray. Even so it took me 15 minutes to tease out all the gunk.

Whichever food stuff it was though it was not as bad as glue. Glue is the ultimate nemesis. I have resorted to scissors before now. Although this brings on hysteria…

If she had informed me earlier in the evening that a foreign substance was in the ends of her hair I would have got her to wash it out. (Glue doesn’t wash out, believe me). That doesn’t work at 7.30pm. Because her hair takes about three hours to dry enough to avoid her risking pneumonia overnight.

We only wash it twice a week. Once on her swimming day. And once after football on Saturdays. That is because chlorine and mud are not great in hair either.

On holiday I need an entire tool kit to deal with her hair. When she has spent 6 hours in a swimming pool her one plait gets sort of fatter but shorter. Presumably it has absorbed a whole load of noxious chemicals.

We employ adult conditioner in the shower. A conditioner and detangler spray after. And the best brush I have ever owned. Well it is our second one. The first broke after one particularly knotty evening. Still my worst record for getting it combed out after a post holiday swimming day is one hour. After that I made her wear a rubber swimming hat. Which helped enormously. She was happy to wear it. To avoid that hour of pain.

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Swimming hat!

 

She is also not the sort of child who enjoys her hair being played with. She will not sit still whilst we try out different braids or weaves. Even if I knew how to do such things. No this sort of activity would use up time that could be spent more productively booting a ball into a net or flipping on the trampoline.

And then there is her ability to manage it herself. Just recently she has become able to wash it herself. Without leaving most of the shampoo and conditioner in the hair.

But she still cannot brush it or plait it on her own. When she goes on Cub camp she just leaves it in my plaits for two nights. I realise that will not cut it eventually. Our deadline is in two years time when she has to go on a week long residential trip with school.

Of course by then she might agree to a bob. I have mentioned before that she is not a girly girl. And her hair is never down. And so I have suggested that she get it cut. I would gain at least half of an hour of my life back a day. As would she. She refuses.

I suppose that would be a sad day though. Because although it is real pain her hair really is her crowning glory.

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My beautiful daughter!

Be careful what you wish for… — November 26, 2015

Be careful what you wish for…

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When my husband and I were deciding which school to send our children to one of our major considerations was the sports provision.

Eldest and Youngest are sports mad. And so we wanted to send them somewhere that would develop them further.

Middlest is not quite so keen. However it was still an important consideration for him too. In fact even more so.

I have the legacy of my own shocking memories of sport experiences at school. Of being labelled not good at Games within about 5 minutes of arriving. This was probably because I had glasses and was skinny. I actually quite enjoyed hockey and netball but the crippling embarrassment of always being picked last and having to sign the ‘period’ register rather marred it for me. It didn’t help that on my first day my mother sent me in with her old hockey stick. Not realising they had changed shape in the twenty odd years since her school hockey career. The fearsome Sports Mistress was not best pleased. I had blotted my copy book. And was probably the butt of staff room jokes for some time.

And so I wanted a school that would encourage Middlest even though he isn’t the best team sport player in the world. I wanted them to help him find a sport he liked and could carry on with in the longer term.

Eldest has taken full advantage and is regularly in the Rugby squad. It is a game he loves. Although he was dismayed by the new rules that do not allow him and his fellow forwards to contest a scrum. He feels he is going through the motions. I feel relieved.

Youngest gets to play and run and swim and generally do all the sports she loves. And so she does. Regularly.

And indeed the school have listened to feedback and this year are providing competitive fixtures for children ‘further down the list’. So this means even Middlest, usually happily adrift in the non-team sea during the Rugby term, is getting fixtures. He is not sure I should have been one of the many who provided that feedback. Although the match teas afterwards seem to help him get over it.

Middlest and Youngest have a minimum of four hours of Curriculum sport a week which even allowing for all that changing sees them active for at least three hours. It includes the team sport of the term, PE (variously cross country, racquet sports, gymnastics and athletics) and swimming.

Eldest clocks up just over three hours a week. He doesn’t have to suffer a weekly swimming lesson now he has progressed to Senior school. Youngest describes it as ‘pure torture’…. she seems to spend her lesson ploughing up and down in various contorted positions. Apparently it’s streamlining…

Along with that Eldest has at least two hours of club and fixtures a week. He would have another hour of Rugby on top of that but he has managed to get out of it to attend choir. Music is his other passion and he spends a lot of his time each week playing his cello and singing.

Middlest clocks up a further two and a half hours of extra curricular sport a week minimum. Including his beloved badminton. And Youngest’s tally is a mind blowing 4 hours a week. A mixture of hockey and football.

And this week on top of all that Middlest is in a Rugby match and Youngest has a swimming gala.

This half term Youngest would have liked to have fitted in an extra half hour of cross country running. Straight before football training. I put my foot down…

It is safe to say that I do not struggle to get my kids to the one hour of activity a day recommended by the Government. In fact they are well over this if you add in all the trampolining, family walks and bike rides, general running about and playground activities. No doubt Youngest will spend lunch hour today playing football on the playground.

Sundays remain a ‘day of rest’. For now. As Youngest progresses up the school she may have to switch from her Saturday football league to a Sunday one. To avoid fixture clashes. And that will mean Eldest may want to take football up again. As we will be doing it anyway. But for now I have my fingers in my ears pretending I can’t hear this…

Because the one major down side of all this opportunity is that our weeks (and I include Saturdays in that) are a complete bomb site.  And I feel weak. Both in comparison. And from the hours of ferrying and logistical quandaries and laundry and ‘encouraging’ from touch lines.

And I am never, ever going to Google ‘how too much sports affects children’…Ever…

Parent’s Evening… — November 22, 2015

Parent’s Evening…

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Last night was parent’s evening for Eldest. It was the first one at his Senior school.

Historically parent’s evenings have involved me sitting in front of one teacher, usually at least ten minutes later than booked, hearing about the exploits of my off spring. Good or bad. All dressed up in euphemism. But lets be honest we all know what ‘lively enthusiasm’ means in relation to maths…

This was going to be a different affair. On offer was a five minute chat with each of Eldest’s fifteen teachers. Yep fifteen.. and that didn’t include any sports teachers. For whom a special appointment needed to be made. We didn’t bother.

Eldest was also expected to be present. And listen. I therefore needed to be mindful of what I said so as to strike a balance between finding out what I needed to find out and not embarrassing my 11 year old. As any owner of an 11 year old will know this is problematic. In the extreme.

Things had got off to a tricky start as it was beholden upon Eldest to book the appointments with these myriad teachers himself. I did try to provide some guidance. Such as leaving 5 minutes between each 5 minute appointment to ensure we did not end up with a cascade of lateness.

I also suggested he miss out some teachers. For instance Drama. It is not that I have anything against Drama. I am sure it is a lovely thing to do on a Monday afternoon. Week 2. But I wasn’t really sure I needed chapter and verse on his ability in that department. He can be quite a good actor at home. When lying about brushing his teeth or making sure his sister gets the blame for some atrocity involving Nerf guns. But I am not sure it translates into the Drama theatre. At school.

Anyway he dutifully organised slots. Including Drama. But not Philosophy. There is a ‘big’ question to explore later. ‘The Relevance of Drama versus Philosophy. Discuss’.  He did have to book some consecutive slots which set me on edge a bit. Although we did get an early reprieve as his Geography teacher had not made it. The Sixth Former helping out was not privy to why.

So I arrived to collect my name badge. And map. Oh my life. A map. It dawned on me then that this was going to be an ‘operation’. I had a quick cup of tea by way of fortification.

I then entered the canteen and was confronted by a sea of desks and chairs. Maybe it could even have been classed as an ocean. Each desk had three chairs. On the parent side. I immediately felt inadequate about my lack of occupant for the third chair. Husband was busy earning money to pay for that chair.

I was early. Eldest was early. Its a trait. This helped us out. As it often does. Most of the desks where unoccupied by parents and also staff. An exception was his DT/Art teacher. The name sign on her desk proclaimed her to be a man. I didn’t comment. The world is such that one never should. Just in case. ‘She’ beckoned us over. And explained that as she teaches five Year 7 sets her night was a little ‘frantic’ and could she see us before official ‘kick off’. As Eldest had booked her later in the evening straight before IT I readily agreed.

She was lovely. No hint of a moustache.

And so the evening went on. At some point Middlest arrived from his Christmas Show rehearsal I think it was between History and Maths but I cannot be sure. He dashed off some grammar on a spare chair. And ate far too many biscuits. Luckily Youngest was at home with grandma.

Between Science and IT Mr/Mrs Art/DT  popped over in a rare break in her schedule (presumably when we were originally to be seen, I had lost track) to ask why we had not pointed out the error in her name plate. I mumbled something incoherently and luckily she was distracted by her next interviewees arriving. I think I got away with it. Eldest hadn’t even noticed the sign was wrong. That’s 11 year olds for you. He of course knew her name. Me less so.

I have never been to a speed dating night. But I imagine it was quite similar. Some teachers had little passport photos of each child next to their name. I couldn’t blame them. Some seemed to see one set of parents after another with no break in between. For all three hours. They put me to shame. I couldn’t remember one Art/ DT teacher’s name I could hardly expect them to know all 120 of theirs.

I felt most sorry for his German teacher who not only had to remember who each child was but also what language he was teaching them. Poor man. I settled for his generic ‘working hard, doing well’. We are only in Week 9. It could have been worse. He could have used another generic ‘could try harder, needs to improve’. We spent two and a half minutes there. I used the left over time to bang home my point about spelling to Mr English.

Many other teachers clearly remembered Eldest, all for good reasons. Thankfully. Amazingly they kept to time. More or less. We nipped in early to several when they looked free. And then mysteriously we could not locate his French teacher. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. And so we got out a full ten minutes earlier than predicted.

Still it was two hours of full on diplomatic interaction. I was knackered. And more than slightly confused. I just held onto the overarching comments and placed the finer detail in the deleted file in my brain.

And I am glad we saw that Drama teacher. Unbeknown to me she has taught Eldest for all three of his years at the school, in both Junior and Senior, and she was very perceptive about him. She did really know him. And was almost glowing in her report. I found it all a bit over dramatic. Eldest grew about a foot taller though, so I will forgive her.

Vicarious Pleasure — November 15, 2015

Vicarious Pleasure

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In my last post I mentioned that I am a late adopter, technology wise.

As such my children feel like pariahs. I know how they feel. When I was a child I was not allowed to watch Top of The Pops (unless Mrs Pugh our lovely babysitter was round in which case we did, sneakily) and so on Friday mornings at school, in between bouncing a tennis ball secured in the foot of one leg of a pair of old tights off a wall, I felt at a slight loss, conversationally.

I became an expert in ‘faking it’. Pretending some intricate tights/ ball manoeuvre (that sounds worse then it should) was requiring of my total concentration whilst I absorbed the first TOTP conversation of the day. Thereby allowing me to interject into subsequent conversations. Just enough to ensure my class mates believed I was an avid a viewer as them.

This is a skill that has served me well. Especially in my work when ‘blagging it’ was often necessary. I left the tennis ball at home though…which reminds me we now have an outside wall large enough for this game. I must introduce the offspring to it forthwith.

So where was I? Oh yes. Children. Pariahs.

For instance I resisted purchasing Minecraft for Middlest for a long time. I am sure everyone in the world has heard of Minecraft. If not I suggest you look it up. He pestered and pestered and pestered and pestered and in the end I relented and bought it for the PC for his birthday in August.

And the main reason I gave in was that I was sick of Stampy. Again everyone the world over (well certainly those reading this with kids around eight plus) will know exactly who I mean. Middlest is obsessed with watching his you tube videos.

In case you are not the owner of such a child I will fill you in. Stampy is a man who seems to make his living filming himself playing computer games- specifically Minecraft. He may play others but I doubt he has time.  Stampy does not appear, well only in avatar form (which apparently is a cat), as the films are of the screen he is playing on and he then commentates over the top. I imagine it is actually quite a skill commentating constantly. But I had reached the point where if I heard his slightly high pitched voice ever again I was going to explode.

So I bought Middlest the game and went through the pain of installing it. To begin with I searched Amazon for a CD Rom of the game in a pretty box that he could actually unwrap. You see? Completely behind the times. It has to be directly downloaded from the Internet onto one’s computer. I was able to buy him a piece of paper with a randomly generated string of characters on though. I wrapped it up as excitingly as possible, which wasn’t all that exciting, not really. Anyway I ‘bought the game’ I thought it was preferable that he actually engage with the process, which as far as I can see is like virtual Lego but with monsters (but only on Survival mode- kind of Death Lego), rather than watch someone else play it.

And yet he STILL prefers to watch Stampy. And now a really rather endearing couple who play together. Pat and Jen. Although their names sound like something out of a Ladybird early reader do not be decieved they can hack away at creepers with the best of them.  When I listen carefully I can detect a slight inequality in their relationship. And she is very giggly which annoys me. Tremendously. But otherwise quite endearing. I actually prefer them to Stampy. And at least it shows that IT geeks can get girlfriends. There is someone out there for everyone. But be quick I doubt there are many Jens left in the world.

This way of entertaining oneself is a phenomenon that puzzles me. Middlest is not alone in this house in the partaking of vicarious pleasure in such a way.

Eldest will watch other people assemble, adapt and test drive Nerf guns. For hours. I actually believe he would rather do this than fire actual foam bullets out of his actual Nerf Guns.  He did say once that it saved him collecting the bullets….I despair…  He will discuss the relative merits of the seemingly endless supply of you tube videos of youths testing Nerf guns. For instance he likes the style of a particular guy from Canada but the films are outdated as they get Nerf guns much later than everyone else and so he is always testing older models. And such like. Ad infinitum. Ad naseum.

I once caught them watching other people on you tube open packets of Pokémon cards. The excitement generated in my kitchen diner when one lucky random stranger got three EXs in one pack was palpable. I have heard of younger children watching other children open Kinder eggs on line.

I guess this is an extension of that other phenomenon. I call it ‘bees round the electronic device’. If one child has a personal electronic device other children would rather watch that child play on it, even if that child will not share the ‘go’s, than do anything else. At all. I think I saw this demonstrated once in a TV show (The Secret Life of a 4 Year Old?). The draw of these devices is incredible.

I  have been trying to think of an equivalent from my childhood. And I have failed. I just can’t.

All credit to these people making money out of such ventures. It certainly saves me buying the actual guns, games, cards. But it is odd. Really odd.

Electronics Fast… — November 12, 2015

Electronics Fast…

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So here we go. The biggest bone of contention in my life. Electronic devices. In writing this I feel I am jumping blindfold off a very high cliff into Arctic waters patrolled by polar bears starving due to lack of sea ice….shiver.

I am not in favour of personal devices for my children. I am a late adopter technology wise myself. In fact I still have a phone that I merely use to, well, phone people – well actually I text people as nowadays actually speaking to people is a little passe- but you get my drift.

My children are, according to them, massively under deviced… I am, apparently, the devil incarnate for not ensuring they have the most up to date technology.

Eldest had an I pod touch for his 10th birthday. The others had nothing. Well they had that Wii I mentioned last time. But that is a social affair. And not all that portable.

We had a rule that he could not use the I pod before school or before all his jobs and homework were complete. He couldn’t take it to school as they are banned there. And so during quite a lot of weeks the device sat neglected on top of the bread bin for the whole time. Only being dusted off on Saturdays. And this was fine with me. In case you are wondering the bread bin is my position of choice for ‘confiscated’ items…I think it is something to do with them not being able to reach it when they were three, that no longer applies but psychologically it still works.

Then I had to deliver on my promise of getting him a phone for his start at Senior school where such devices are allowed within parameters. Apparently he would be unable to survive without one. Obviously I did. In fact I survived with 10 pence in my pocket and, in extremis, the school receptionist . And, yes, occasionally it was difficult and I did need to face the wrath of that dragon in the school office but generally all was fine. Maybe schools changed their plans less because they couldn’t really change their plans without ending up with a crisis. They could not arbitrarily decide to cancel clubs, arrange impromptu after school meetings for students, decide that all Year 7 boys should leave school from a different building on one random Tuesday. Etc. So they didn’t.

So I accepted that Eldest needed a phone, to avoid being a stranded. And because Eldest had a ‘new’ phone (actually an old handset of husband’s with a new SIM) Middlest got the I pod touch. Which then gave Youngest licence to commandeer my I pad or the ancient first generation DS, on which, one Christmas, I frightened myself determining my actual brain age and then failing to improve it much. Because Eldest could take the phone to school it came off the bread bin. And before I knew it all three were on devices before school, after school, whilst brushing their teeth, in bed, whilst watching TV etc.

I let it ride. Partly because to re-instate the ‘no device’ rules would require energy and commitment that I currently do not possess. For some reason this time of year makes me lethargic. The recent weather has made it worse. And so I am not even keeping up with this blog never mind tackling difficult and contentious child related issues.

The other reason I let it ride was that, aside from being constantly ignored, it made the mornings quieter. Bad mummy moment…

And then someone linked on Facebook to an article about how over use of electronics is ruining children’s mental health. And physical health. And emotional health. I sort of knew this. But reading the article brought it all home to me. The behaviours that the author said may improve with a reduction (or indeed a total ban) on electronic exposure were ones I recognised in all of them – even the eight year old.

So I sat down and had the conversation. It was a mistake to tell them I had read an article. They hate it when I read articles. Last time I read an article I took all the sugar I could out of their diet and Middlest still has natural yogurt flashbacks…

Anyhow I got round that blunder and managed to get them to agree to the morning ban. The after school ban unless jobs etc are done. And a bedroom charging- up- leading – to- early- morning- play ban.

Already things have calmed down. Eldest has slept better for the last two nights than ‘for ages’.  And he has started de-cluttering his bedroom ready for the make over he wants to do in there. Middlest admitted that he does not miss being awoken by Crashy Road free gift notifications in the middle of the night (!).  And Youngest has got the loom bands out.

So we will be continuing with the ban. My mornings will be more frantic. I will get pestered more. But I think it is worth it. Especially as they can all now hear me when I call up the stairs. Amazing that eh?

Wow look at that Grandma is playing basketball… — November 7, 2015

Wow look at that Grandma is playing basketball…

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miis

Sorry for the radio silence….I don’t really have a solid reason for the lack of posts over the last week or so… lack of inspiration, the depression of post ‘clocks going back’, no time… that sort of thing…

Anyhoo this afternoon the kids and I decided to have a Wii tournament.

Mostly because I am sick of hearing myself say,

“Turn off that I pod, I phone, I pad (delete as appropriate) and come out of your room and be damn sociable for a bit”….

But the weather has been absolutely foul. It hasn’t got light properly all week. We spent the morning getting soaked on various pitches. Middlest won’t play board games without me employing the kind of enthusiasm that a dreary November day does not illicit in me.

And so I decided to go with Eldest’s idea of a Wii Sport’s Resort tournament. We don’t possess an X Box or a PSP and so the Wii is our only option for playing together, even so we only have two remotes and nunchucks and so they have to share. Which usually means that Eldest produces a highly complicated spreadsheet containing order’s of play, which always favour him. Then we have the usual arguments about how an archery match is in no way equivalent to slicing pieces of melon and eggs in half. And such like…

I decided to push these annoyances aside and try really hard to enjoy it.

I especially enjoyed the cow racing. Although not Eldest and Youngest playing billiards. Which was very loooong and painfuuuul especially as they could not work out the controls. Never has it taken so long for 9 balls to get in several pockets….

The thing I love about the Wii more than anything else is that about a gazillion years ago when we first had it and played it a lot, before it had got out of date and you could still get new games for it, we all designed Miis of ourselves.

For those not in the know these are versions of the little people that appear on the screen that look like real people. We have a collection including both Grandmas, a Grand-dad, all the kids, husband and I, a couple of Uncles and Aunts and some friends. Over time Eldest has added a moustache to his Mii and now looks like a dodgy Italian waiter. But generally they are remarkably recognisable. Although Middlest’s sunglasses give him an incognito air.

These Miis pop up in crowds cheering you on as you cycle up a volcano. Manys the time I have dived handle bar first into molten rock whilst waving at an old friend in the crowd. Or they applaud your bullseye in archery, sedately as befitting of a crowd at such an event. Or they perform a Mexican wave in the football ground.

And so randomly today Grandma was recruited to play in Youngest’s three on three basketball team. Twice. She was the queen of slam dunks…

Anyway it made me smile.

Doing nothing… — October 29, 2015

Doing nothing…

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Today we are doing nothing….

Actually that is not strictly true as later we need to go to the hairdressers as Eldest looks like one of those Old English Sheepdogs. And not in a good way.

But other than that we are doing nothing.

We got up exceedingly late. I let them watch TV and play on mindless computer games for far too long.

Eldest and Middlest have spent a fair amount of time refining, rewriting and redrafting their Christmas lists. Following extensive on line research into the pros and cons of various Nerf guns.

I sent them out to buy an onion, one carrot and a loaf of bread. My on line shopping often goes awry in the holiday. They went on their bikes and came back with the change and a mouldy onion. So I went out to get another….

Then I banned all forms of electronics. Thus ensued an amazing Nerf gun battle. Which was just as well because I am not going to buy any more foam bullet firing guns unless they will actually get played with. I am pretty stumped Christmas present wise but I am not going to buy stuff that merely languishes in drawers.

Obviously the battle descended into carnage. It started well but deteriorated. People were cheating. Youngest was adamant she was ‘going to win’ and hacked the other two off. I tried to explain that no one ever ‘wins’ in a war, not really. That was too deep for them during their ‘red mist’ and so I took several green disks to the backside. Play fighting became actual fighting. So we stopped.

I made them make their own lunch. Inch thick slices of cucumber anyone?

Then we had an hour before our appointment at the salon.

I left them to it. Boredom is good for kids. It fires their imaginations.

And this is what they decided to do.

Sometimes it is best to leave well alone.

Pushy Parent? — October 27, 2015

Pushy Parent?

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For the last three days Eldest has been on a County Chamber Music course. Playing his cello.

When the invitation to sign up came out he met all the criteria and so I asked him if he was interested and surprisingly he said he was. I might have mentioned his old cello teacher would be there. And he might have been slightly distracted by Minecraft but he agreed readily.

Of course on the morning of the first day he was less keen. He didn’t want to go. He was nervous of meeting new people and of not being a good enough player. I assumed that he would be with others roughly his age playing music roughly of the right standard.

Well he got through that first day and had texted me during it with reassuring little messages. He was exhausted, as expected after concentrating for five hours, but went to bed happy enough.

The next morning however he was weeping into his Weetabix refusing to go back. He felt that he wasn’t good enough, that he would let his other quartet members down, that he had no one to talk to. Suffice to say that a combination of the lack of the promised teacher, three girls in his group much older than him, and apparently much better players than him, and not being able to find the toilets had put him off.

And then I had that dilemma all parents face. How much to push.

It doesn’t matter in what field or at what level, at some point every parent has to decide whether to push or not. It can be anything, anywhere. A party for five year olds when they just want to cling to your leg. The decision to send them on a Cub camp or not. The first residential school trip. Your toddler screaming on the side of a swimming pool refusing to jump in for the teacher. When they are stuck up a large tree you have no hope of climbing and the only way forwards is for them to come down by themselves. How to leave your sobbing four year old on the first day of school.

All of these, and a myriad others particular to each child, involve this knife edge decision.

In this case the instinctive part of me wanted to just ring up the course co-ordinator and say he wasn’t coming back. And tear a strip off him for the lack of introductions, support and basic venue familiarisation undertaken for my 11 year old.

But then the rational part of me remembered that my son is highly strung, a perfectionist, liable to remember only the negative. And a brilliant cellist for his age. Who played a solo in front of 250 people at the end of year school shin dig without much fuss.

I realised that if he quit those three violinists would be left in the lurch.

I knew from experience that although the performance aspect would be scary it would also be exhilarating.

And so I rang the co-ordinatior, bit my tongue and merely explained the facts. He spoke to Eldest and reassured him and he agreed to go back.  I made a separate deal. That if he could ring me at lunch and tell me hand on heart that he had hated the whole morning I would fetch him back, no questions asked.

Of course that didn’t happen. His old teacher materialised. The girls found out he was only in Year 7 and took him under their wing. He rang me at lunch to ask if he could order pizza and stay between the end of the dress rehearsal and the actual concert so he could spend more time with them.

We are leaving soon to watch him.  He will probably go wrong. And be a bag of nerves. That is fine. But he will also get a massive high from the experience.

He will feel braver and more self confident as a result of pushing through the fear. Let’s face it life is full of things we do not want to face.

And I was right to push.

But it is a balancing act.

Too much pushing will see him resent me for making him do things that made him miserable.

Too little and he will miss out on experiences that could really enrich his life.

It’s a toughie.

Project Management — October 20, 2015

Project Management

/sarahsmale/Leave a comment
Actually that was my face...
Actually that was my face…

There is currently a big black cloud on my horizon. Not literally, although after I put my washing on the line earlier it did go quite dark, no I mean metaphorically.

And the reason is the impending Year 6 Local Environmental Issue project. A forty page plus project on a local environmental issue of your choice. Quite self explanatorily.

Last year when Eldest was in Year 6 we got through the winter term relatively unscathed. Rugby took its toll and in early January his Senior school entrance exams loomed. Although the school were at pains to point out that they were just a formality.

And so he went back to school in January on fine form. Looking forward to the football term although not those exmas. And then on that first day back the school emailed out a letter.

The letter outlined the project that needed to be undertaken during the next term. At first I was confused, did they mean after Easter? Then it dawned on me that the letter was late and should have come out before the Christmas break.

And my heart sank.

The letter pulled no punches. It explained that parental involvement would be necessary. As the project required site visits and interviewing and photos. That in itself was quite refreshing. At least they were being honest about the level of work I would have to do. Usually schools seem to believe children can produce, say, the Taj Mahal out of matchsticks unaided. Ha. Ha. Ha.

In some ways I was glad for the fact that the letter had been issued late. And therefore we had remained in blissful ignorance over the seasonal festivities.

No such luck this year as Middlest hurtles his way towards the same project.

I am never really sure what such pieces of work are for. Or who.

I agree that children need to learn to manage larger pieces of extended work. They need to practise time management. Be able to plan in sensible chapters.

Unfortunately mine are some way off being able to do this independently. And so guess who ends up doing most of it? Well guiding them to do it but you know what I mean.

Not only that but they are supposed to use their humanities lessons at school to progress the project. And so in order to ensure they don’t spent those valuable hours sharpening pencils and chatting to their mates I am left lesson planning too.

And then there is the topic. I shot my best bolt local environmental issue wise last year with Eldest. I now need to think of another issue that around 40 pages of work can be produced about. Along with a photo journey and an interview and site visits. Without too much colouring in. Middlest hates colouring in.

Asking my ten year old to come up with an idea for such a project is laughable. I have asked him a couple of times if he has had any thoughts. I get a sort of blank, quizzical look. I guess one could take it as a shocking lack of knowledge. Or just be realistic; that the average ten year old wants to cause his own environmental catastrophe by owning every plastic gun in the known universe not write an extended piece about it.

So I have been wracking my brains since last year to no real avail. I have come up with the recycling journey of a yogurt pot or the impact of the new bypass near by. Neither are filling me with excitement. And both involve me in speaking to the council to get access and information and facts. Which requires me to do something before Christmas. The clock is ticking.

Had the project been about something Middlest was passionate about, say elephants or the wider environmental and conservation issues surrounding elephants, he might be more engaged. But no it has to be local. Not many elephants round here. That site visit would have been more fun too…

Or it could be a history project which would get my juices flowing and therefore by default his. And we could visit castles and I could once more coo over medieval plumbing (still find that fascinating…the forethought to build drainage through those thick, thick walls, mind blowing). In fact for me it could be any other sort of project really; history, geography, art, politics etc. Just not the same one as last year.

But, no, we are stuck with these parameters. Yawn. I spent six weeks plus of my life living, eating and breathing the last ‘issue’. Spending our weekends trawling round our local Community Forests. I like a woodland walk. I enjoy birds and wildlife. I like feeling that I am ‘contributing’ to such a worthwhile cause whilst eating organic flap jack. I just don’t enjoy having to do all that with half an eye on chapter eight whilst photographing every information board and surveying cyclists. And I certainly don’t relish having to come home and force a child to sit down and write about it. As such I have no enthusiasm left.

It is safe to say that when Eldest got 39 marks out of 40 (he lost a mark for his slightly ‘thin’ Conclusion…. by that point he had truly HAD ENOUGH) my heart sank a little. For now we need to replicate that this year. Or else Middlest will plead favouritism. Again.

I truly hope that in another two years when it is Youngest’s turn the subject will have changed. If not it will be severely tempting to recycle Eldest’s. In the name of the environment.

Footnote: After writing this I was inspired enough to e mail the Council. I got the standard ‘Our turn around time is 10 working days’ response. This is why I need to start now. Weep…