musingsponderingsandrants

Parenting, profundities and humour

Tag: parenting

Brother Mine, Sister Mine… — July 31, 2016

Brother Mine, Sister Mine…

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I have three kids. Those of you who know me know this. Those that have bothered to read my ‘About’ pages will also know. As will regular readers. So for those of you who are new (where have you been?) I have three children. Two boys and a girl.

I had them close together. Deliberately. For a few reasons. One, I started late and needed to get on with it; two, I wanted them to get on; and three, I was very close in age to my own oldest brother and it worked well for us. There are three and a bit years between Eldest and Youngest. Middlest is, well, in the middle of that somewhere…

Overall it has been a good decision. My children are a ‘unit’. Wherever we go they are together. Ready made playmates. They are tight. It has always been the way and even now they are 12, 10 and 9 it still holds true, although Eldest is pulling away a little and tends to stay with us more whilst the other two maraude off.

But then his younger siblings also entice him into things he might otherwise feel too cool for. For instance recently at a local fair they persuaded him on a bouncy castle slide that his 12 year old self may have considered beneath his advanced years. Of course he had a ball.

They have a lot in common. A love of all sorts of sport. Playing and watching. Competitiveness. Music. The same school. Being outdoorsy. A liking  for terrible Disney Channel shows. Shared history. In jokes. A love of inventing madcap games (recently they spent four hours in the paddling pool playing water polo, in six inches of water)…

Even now, when friends are very important at school, they still spend all their weekends and holidays together. They don’t seek out friends particularly. Although they could knock on doors. They just ‘are’. Together.

Don’t get me wrong we don’t live in utopia. They fight, squabble, hurt each other deliberately and by accident. An awful lot. But fundamentally they do get on.

I really want this to continue. Although I know it will get harder as adolescence creeps in.

For instance tonight after a day spent in the pool on holiday and an hour of family football (which nearly killed me, I am sure I will find some energy to write about that at some point) Youngest’s hair was a chloriney, sweaty, tangled mess of knotted bum length strands.

She and Middlest got in a warm bath together. I hung around ready to assist with the hair washing. I wasn’t required. I merely spectated surreptitiously from behind the door as Middlest lovingly gave his sister a hair wash. Carefully applying and rinsing off shampoo and then conditioner. Advised by Youngest on how much and where to apply it. Tipping her head around in the shower to get all the suds out. Asking if the temperature was OK. I heard him remark that it was just like they ‘used to do after football’. Before we moved house and she got her own shower room. He had missed it. So had she.

I guess at some point a brother and sister will stop this sort of behaviour. For modesty.    Naturally. This might be the last year on holidays that they do such a thing. It nearly made me weep to think of it.

I am sure something else will take its place instead. I hope it does.

For what great lessons they learn from each other. How to treat the opposite sex. How to be a decent member of their own gender. How to fall out and make up. How far to push. How to negotiate. How to fail. How to say sorry. And how to be unconditionally loved.

 

 

 

I Swear…. — July 26, 2016

I Swear….

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So I have a ‘potty’ mouth. I am a terrible swearer. I curse a lot. Particularly in the car.

Of course I tried to moderate this behaviour when the kids were little and I think I did an OK job. The odd ‘bloody hell’ may have slipped out but generally I was better behaved, language wise.

Recently I have given up. I am not sure what is driving this. I may be peri-menopausal. Who knows? I am certainly getting older and in the manner of older people I have completely lost the ability to be patient. Especially with people driving cars. Or bikes. Or lorries. Or motorcycles. Or maybe it is just that the amount of driving I do has increased exponentially over recent years. And a lot of that driving is done under a certain degree of time pressure.

For instance today I dropped Youngest off at the second day of her week long football course at 9. Because it was the second day we were not able to register them ten minutes early. And so I was first out of the blocks when I was finally allowed to sign her in. Quick peck on the head and it was a race to the car to avoid the car park Jenga that would then ensue. I felt a bit like Anneka Rice in that helicopter game show but without the terrible eighties jump suit.

And the reason I was so rushed was that I needed to have both boys to their orchestra course by 9.30. The orchestra course is a minimum of 23 minutes away from our house. Which is about 6 minutes nearer to the orchestra course venue than the football course venue. I know it can be done in 23 minutes from my house because I managed to get them there at 9.29 am on the first day after having to turn round part way because Eldest remembered he had left his cello bow at home…I may have cursed then too…. On that occasion we re-left home at 9.06…

‘Cello bow gate’ happened on a Sunday. Today was Tuesday and therefore traffic was likely to be more of an issue.

I hate being late. My children also hate being late. Both boys were getting more and more anxious in the back seat. This consisted of them asking me every 30 seconds how much longer the journey was going to take and discussing between them who was going to brave Mrs Bentley, the course administrator and woodwind tutor, and what excuse they were going to give for their tardiness. I suggested they just tell the truth. That mummy had too many kids. They weren’t keen. Then they both needed the loo. Their bowels react badly to stress. All this  wasn’t helping. Much.

During this carnage I may have called a lorry driver, who pulled out behind me into the fast lane on a very short bit of dual carriageway (the length of which I have got very very familiar with over the last three days as I race from drop off to drop off) to overtake an even slower lorry in front of me, when I was clearly indicating to pull out first, a tosser.

That was a new one on the boys. I had to ‘explain’ it. Whilst overtaking. I suggested they didn’t use the word in front of Mrs Bentley, who may inadvertently swallow her oboe reed. Or indeed in front of any adult. Even me.

Of course that is double standards. But, hey, they weren’t the ones going bumper to bumper with the juggernaut.

Do as I say. Don’t say as I say. Ok?

Fiscal Policy — July 22, 2016

Fiscal Policy

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So today we hear that the UK Purchasing Managers Index is down to its lowest level in seven years. So no-one is buying stuff. In the aftermath of Brexit. Am I surprised. Nah. The Chancellor is planning ‘something’ in his Autumn Budget statement. When he reviews fiscal policy.

The fiscal policy in our house has also come under scrutiny today. This is how the land lies.

I don’t give my kids pocket money. It is something we have never got round to ‘negotiating’. We provide them with all their needs. And in my opinion their wants are more than catered for. They have a lot of stuff. Too much stuff really. So to my mind they do not need pocket money to spend on sweets or whichever collecting cards are currently in favour. We have many sorts of these cards on bookshelves. Pokemon, YoGhiOh, Match Attacks etc. The get used for a few weeks in the playground and then they lie discarded on surfaces around my house. Causing a dusting hazard.

And anyway every birthday and Christmas they are usually in receipt of a fair amount of cash or vouchers. Party invitees slip tenners in envelopes. Family are generous.  Sometimes vouchers can be problematic but I will redeem them for stores they won’t use at face value. As long as it is a a store I would be buying stuff at in any event.

Youngest has just had her birthday. And is therefore in possession of a lot of cash. She spent some of it on shoes which were over my ‘ceiling price for a piece of footwear for an eight year old’ but still has quite a lot left.

Edlest had his birthday in January. An unfortunate incident with his phone (please see The Cost of Everything, The Value of Nothing if you need a recap) saw his cash stash all but wiped out.

Middlest’s birthday is in a little over a month. He was down to his last fiver.

On our shoe shopping spree a couple of days ago we nipped into a well known toy store for a browse. I had found some old vouchers and the kids wanted to spend them on water guns. Unfortunately the vouchers had gone out of date. So Eldest spent the last of his cash on a water pistol and Middlest spent his last fiver and wrote me an IOU for the remaining £10. It is taped to the fridge.

I considered allowing an IOU reasonable taking into account the short time frame until his birthday money comes in. Eldest asked for the same treatment. Err no I am not waiting until Christmas. Think again matey. He is not a good bet, lending wise. No collateral. My kids really need to learn that I used to bounce cheques and turn down car loans for a living…

Yesterday a series of events which I will not bore you with but which involved Pokémon Go, whining, and multiple warnings, culminated in me threatening to remove Eldest’s phone for a week. He claimed not to have understood the ultimatum. The other two heard it loud and clear though. He ended up phoneless. I don’t go back on my threats. Ever. It. is. Very. Bad. Parenting. To. Go. Back. On. One’s. Threats. If one goes back on one’s threats they then think they have won. I am the alpha here goddamit. It is a position I am keen to maintain at all costs.

He is so bored he has resorted to helping his sister with her colouring in and now fancies one of those adult colouring in books for himself. When I say adult I mean intricate not the other thing. Three pounds was the cheapest he could find. I asked him if he had three pounds with which to buy the book. No. No book then, sonny Jim.

I explained that I was happy for them to earn cash by doing chores. The going rate here is £2 per bathroom clean. It is a job I hate, they do it quite well, at least better than it not being done at all.

The boys hatched a plan to clean all three bathrooms and thereby glean £6. Youngest wasn’t having any of that and pulled rank to be allowed to clean her own en suite. I agreed even though she has no need of the £2. They set to.

The whole process was loud. Middlest donned his old school art apron to tackle their toilet. It is a full body PVC affair. With sleeves. When I asked if it was strictly necessary he reminded me that daddy uses that toilet. Fair enough then.

It took them about an hour. They did an ok job.

I doled out pound coins.

But not to Middlest. I merely reduced his IOU to £6. He wasn’t best pleased. And stormed off.

But fair’s fair. Three more bathrooms and we will be even.

It’s a harsh life lesson. But one I think it important to learn.

Feelin’ Hot, Hot, Hot… — July 19, 2016

Feelin’ Hot, Hot, Hot…

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So it is finally hot here. Seriously uncharacteristically hot. More than 30 degrees.

We (and by ‘we’ I mean the British) have been moaning on for weeks about our lack of summer. Discussing precipitation and lack of UV.

Someone was listening and so now, almost out of nowhere, we are basking in Mediterranean style sunshine. And of course now we still aren’t happy. We never are. Most people’s kids are still in school. People are having to commute still. Soon the railways will shut as the tracks have become too hot. The shops had given up on summer ever materialising and put all their summer clothes on sale and so now we have to trawl the stuffed, disorganised racks to find some linen trousers that aren’t size 20. And so we are now moaning that it is too hot.

Most schools break up on Friday. And everyone is assuming the rain and mid teen temperatures will then return. It is quite likely.

I am fortunate. Mine are already off school. Yesterday we spent six hours shopping for footwear. Yes six hours. In the heat. That is a whole other blog though.

So I had planned a lazy day for today. Some friends are popping round about four for tea. I had to nip to town for a birthday gift. But otherwise I thought filling the paddling pool was as ambitious as it was going to get.

I achieved the gift purchasing within an hour before it got too hot. I also made the most of the Debenhams swimwear and lingerie sale. Must try all that on later. I don’t try on swimwear and lingerie in the store. There is something unnerving about stripping down to one’s altogether in semi public. And in any event the lighting in those changing rooms is soooo unflattering. At least that is my excuse. I find I look my best in dim lighting.

I got home and hung out some laundry to take advantage of the oven baked temperatures. Then I went into the shed to retrieve the paddling pool.

Part of me thought that if I set it up early enough then the sun would heat the water over the course of the day and allow me to merely use the outside tap to fill it. This is probably nonsense. But I did not really fancy hauling buckets of hot water from the kitchen tap into the garden. In the heat. Have I mentioned the heat?

I located the paddling pool under a dust sheet at the back of the shed. We purchased this paddling pool about two years ago. It is large. Not as large as those that come with filters and require a licence from your water company to fill, but large.

I decided on a large one when Eldest slid down the slide into our old ‘Spiderman’ paddling pool (diameter circa 1.2m) and promptly slid straight out the other side. They could all stand up in it but had to take turns to sit. The new pool was quite expensive. Certainly more than I remembered paying for the Spiderman set up which also came with a free beach ball AND rubber ring- both of which were still going strong. But I remember being extremely impressed when this new pool came with a heavy duty patching kit…well, I thought, years of service will negate the cost.

So anyway as I said I located the pool. Unfortunately our ‘friendly’ mouse family that reside in the shed had also located it and torn it into shreds. I like to think that we have a family of ‘friendly’ mice, all pink ears and twitching whiskers, because the alternative is too awful for words. The nest I found was small and so I do believe it is mice. Hopefully endangered harvest mice or something equally cute. And please do not get back to me with statistics which say things like ‘you are only ever 200m from a rat’….and such like. It won’t help.

So the paddling pool was a no go. I calculated that each ‘use’ had cost about £17…but at least it had kept some friendly rodents in nesting material. Moreover I had promised the friends a paddling pool. And my offspring. So a ‘hunting out new paddling pool’ trip was on the cards. The old paddling pool was not only shredded but also smelt a tad…..fruity. Putting it politely. A ‘tip’ trip was also on the cards.

I have needed to go to the tip for a while. The garage is full of cardboard. And used jars. And a few used bottles. And old clothes that no one else wants. And of course after my footwear escapades of the previous day my house was full of old shoes.

So I emptied a fair proportion of my garage into my boot. Along with the fruity, shredded paddling pool.

Off we went. I promised the kids they could post glassware into the bottle bank as a sort of bribe. They still like doing this. Odd people. We got to the tip. It was hot. Have I mentioned that? It was only after depositing cardboard, supervising glass posting, getting rid of that paddling pool and manhandling large sacks of old clothing into a bank two feet taller than me that I realised all those old shoes were still on my kitchen floor. Damn it.

Anyway there is a large superstore near the tip which to my mind was bound to have a paddling pool. It did. But it was only 1.2m in diameter. Never mind we bought baguettes for lunch. And went off to the DIY store opposite. Some paddling pools were on offer. Again only 1.2m. Yet more shops that had been taken off guard by our sudden and unexpected summer.

By this point the heat and exertion had made me very, very hungry. As I filled up with petrol at the superstore forecourt I was in a quandary. Whether to go to the toy store on my ‘way’ home. Or go home, eat and return later.

In the end we went to the toy store on the way home, ignoring our rumbling stomachs and, according to Youngest, parched mouths. Youngest had remembered seeing the exact same paddling pool, without holes and mice wee, at this toy store when we were in there yesterday purchasing water guns as a slight detour from shoe shopping hell.

She was right. There was one pool left. Once we got someone to serve us we left for home.

We really enjoyed our baguettes.  During them Youngest checked to make sure I would be adding hot water to the pool when erecting it. Damn it. Again.

I am now hiding with a cup of tea before braving setting up the pool. I need to find the electric pump. There is no way I can manually blow the thing up. Not in this heat. And then set the hose running. And I guess ferry the odd bucket of hot water out there.

I am going to get them to sign affidavits in blood swearing that they will stay in the pool for longer than ten minutes and go back in tomorrow even if there is cut grass and the odd dead fly floating in it.

I don’t think it likely though…

Footnote: Handy Hint Service-During the filling of a paddling pool it is always wise to see if the paddling pool has a plug, and then check if that plug is in…my lawn is nicely watered anyway…

 

Just Bounce Off Will You? — July 15, 2016

Just Bounce Off Will You?

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So on our ‘Things We Must Do in the Long Summer Holiday’ list the kids had written  ‘Go to Bounce’.

In case you are not familiar with this particular activity Bounce is a shed in a city near us which is home to 100 plus trampolines. Eldest and Middlest have each been to a party there. It was a ‘thing’ about a year ago. In the manner of children’s parties the herd has now moved on. Mainly to the outside Waterpark on a nearby lake. Even looking at children in wet suits in that lake makes me shiver. And worry about algae and stuff. We did a similar thing in Greece last summer. In the Med. Air temperature 38 degrees. Sea temperature 28 degrees. Currently here the air temp is about 18 and I am pretty sure the lake has made double figures but probably only just. It looked more fun in Greece. But hey each to their own.

I am digressing. I apologise.

Youngest has had a bee in her bonnet about Bounce since I had to decline two birthday parties on her behalf that were being held at this palace of bouncy wonderment. To hear her talk you would think this shed was some sort of utopia. With added dodgeball.

So I agreed to let them come. We were going to do it yesterday but then we went on a bike ride down the new bypass (on the cycle route in case readers of Cycle Rage are wondering) and had lunch in our supermarket of choice. That sounds like I am being coy. I am not really. Our supermarket of choice is Sainsburys. What can I say? I like their meat. And the fact that they let me park there on Fridays so I can collect the kids without queuing up for half an hour to leave the school carpark. I owe them. Plus all my ‘favourites’ are saved on their web site. And I am blowed if I am going to go through the rigmarole of starting all over somewhere else. I can almost do my on line grocery shopping in my sleep.

By golly I am digressing again. So after our jaunt on bikes we decided to save Bounce for another, less exciting day. Today is that day.

I booked an hour’s slot on line. And paid an extortionate amount for the privilege. Then I had to buy two pairs of ‘Bounce’ socks. Eldest had brought his home from his party. The parents of the child that Middlest attended the party of are obviously more savvy. They probably kept all the £2.49 pairs of socks and got a reasonable used price on e bay. I was expecting quite a lot from these socks. I generally only pay £2.50 for a five pack of sports socks….

We arrived. Only the independent schools are off this week. So we had thought it might be quite quiet. We hadn’t reckoned on school parties. The double decker in the car park was a little unnerving. I approached the reception desk. Luckily I had printed off all my waiver forms and registration forms and booking forms. These basically consist of reams of paper in which you agree that if you die it is all your own fault, you muppet. And that you won’t get the extortionate entrance fee back in that event.

The lady then asked me if I was staying. I hadn’t booked myself onto the trampolines. I don’t do trampolines. The reason I don’t will be self evident to anyone who has borne three kids. My children haven’t borne three kids so I had to do a little ‘delicate’ explaining. How to tell your kids they have shot your pelvic floor and you are therefore unable to partake of a fun activity with them without making them feel guilty for it? I think I navigated that quite well. The adverts around the place suggesting that Bounce is a ‘family activity’ are clearly designed by marketing executives who have not had children. Or are male.

So I told the lady I would be staying as youngest is 8 and surely therefore too young to be left unattended? She agreed, she was too young to be left. And then she charged me £2.99 for the privilege of supervising my own offspring. My god. Money for old rope. Luckily this entitled me to spend £2.99 in the café.

We acquired the socks. I was a little ‘disappointed’. I am not sure why normal socks would not have worked. I suppose they lack the ‘grips’ on the bottom. And are not bright orange. All  my kids possess Christmas slipper socks though. I think they should have been allowed. However unseasonal they are.

We watched the Safety Briefing. In synopsis. If you die it is all your own fault. You muppet.

They donned the amazing socks. I decided to not bother with a locker. Which would take my pound and not return it. So I carted all the jumpers and shoes and socks (of a non grippy, non orange nature) with me.

We entered bouncy utopia. It quickly became apparent that I would not be able to spectate from the café. As it is below the level of the trampolines. This seemed a little unfair as I had paid £2.99 for the privilege of spectating. I had expected a viewing gallery at least. Oh well. I spent my ‘voucher’ on tea and a piece of Rocky Road. The offspring went off to bounce.

I tried to use the ‘free’ WiFi. Which necessitated that I ‘check in’ on Facebook. These people have an eye for the buck that’s all I can say. I deleted the post once I was safely logged in. Sod you Bounce and your ‘free’ WiFi providing you with ‘free’ advertising. I am not sure why this bothers me so much. But it does. I never check in on Facebook. Ever. I felt dirty.

The place was packed. There seemed to be an entire sixth form in hogging the Slam Dunk area. And another younger school party in the dodge ball arena. And queuing up outside.

Luckily the teenagers’ time was soon up, and the other party left half an hour later. Once I had finished my tea (no food or drink allowed in the bounce arena) and decided to risk leaving my bags in the café I climbed the steps to take a few videos of my springy, flippy children. Just to pretend I was bothered about their antics. In these situations (risk of death, which would be all your own fault, you muppet) I find it is best to just not watch and instead write blog entries.

All too soon their hour was up. Although they would never have coped with two. They were a sweaty mess. As shown above.

I am hoping they will all sleep well tonight. That might provide some ‘compensation’.

 

A Post About Posts… — July 7, 2016

A Post About Posts…

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‘Stealth Post’

So today I was assembling a netball post in the kitchen. This opening probably needs some explanation. Soon Youngest is turning 9. In keeping with our plans to banish the children to the garden for the whole summer holidays her main present is a netball post.

Thus far Operation Banish has not been a huge success as it has fallen foul of our shocking British summer.

However mine break up from school tomorrow for eight and a half weeks. Yep read it and weep. Eight and a half weeks. And so the weather had better pick up to allow Operation Banish to move to full, well, operation and provide me with the time to brush my teeth and occasionally do something other than coax children off electronics. And when I say ‘coax’ I really mean ‘shout at futilely and repetitively’. If the weather doesn’t cooperate I will provide copious amounts of old small hand towels for trampoline wiping. And they can learn to play table tennis in the rain. Extreme table tennis.

So anyway as this is my last full day alone for the said eight and a half weeks it occurred to me that I ought to assemble the netball post. So as not to end up doing it at 9pm on the evening before her birthday. Which wouldn’t be ideal. Especially as I am singing in a concert on that particular evening.

I started assembly on the kitchen floor. There had been some low starred Amazon reviews based on missing pieces and badly aligned holes. Along with one lady who had found the instructions ‘incomprehensible’.

Of course I had taken these reviews with a pinch of salt as the vast majority had been favourable. Read enough reviews on line and you are bound to find someone grumbling about something. We have been to some lovely all inclusive resorts abroad almost universally praised on Trip Advisor. But there will always be some ‘one star’ reviewer complaining that there wasn’t enough choice at the breakfast buffet which when you first attend blows your mind with its vastness. Especially when compared to the two slices of toast and half a grapefruit that is your usual fare.

Anyway I digress. These reviews were another reason I decided to erect the netball post ahead of time. Just in case Nut C was missing. Or my holes failed to line up.

I initially thought the net was missing. Quite an issue really. For a netball post. But, no, on closer inspection it was concealed in the nut and bolt bag. It took a bit of untangling from the washers but all parts were present and correct. I was good to go.

Those ‘incomprehensible’ instructions were not the worst I have seen. They contained words which is an improvement on some flat pack I have attempted in the past. The pictures were a little ambiguous but you know a bit of common sense goes a long way.

I struggled with understanding the wheel, axle, bottom post, struts configuration. Until I realised that I had the struts on the wrong sides. Luckily I had yet to retrieve the socket set from the garage so my nuts were still loose. I always leave my nuts loose until I am sure they are all in the right place. Before turning the screw so to speak. I learnt this the hard way a long time ago with a bookshelf and an Allen key.

It was after sorting this little issue that I realised building the post in the kitchen was a bad idea. I stood up to answer the phone and hit my head on the corner of the worktop which I had managed to work my way under during my exertions. It took quite a crack. The granite seemed unaffected, my forehead less so. I failed to get to the phone as stars danced before my eyes. Quite a lot more than one too.

I then tried to get the remaining four post sections in the right order. And learnt that netball posts are quite a lot higher than ceilings. I think the downlighter has survived. I relocated to the patio. Which put me in full view of the roofers next door. Always a worry to have real craftsmen able to observe ones amateur attempts.

I also understood why the health and safety part of the instructions asked me to take care if using a ladder during assembly. I had no desire to use a monkey wrench and socket set up a ladder. I also had a quick look at the net attachment which seemed to require a degree in origami. Again not something that should be attempted up a ladder. I usually stick ridgidly to the instructions but this time decided to do things out of order. So my last nut tightening was going to be doable from ground level.

That misaligned hole issue mentioned by other purchasers raised its head on the second to third post section attachment. A hammer took care of it. Which was a relief as some of the other reviewers had mentioned drills. Gulp. I have a drill. But it scares my family when I use it. And it is a hammer drill (bought to combat the solid brick walls in our previous abode which resisted curtain poles quite doggedly) which is probably not a precision enough instrument to deal with re drilling a hole in a cylindrical post without the aid of a vice. Which I don’t have. Thank god for the hammer. Luckily I had double checked I had the right bolt in first because it ain’t never coming out again. Ever.

So I managed to get it all together and set to with my socket set and adjustable spanner. I love the ratchet sound that that tool emits. It makes me feel all ‘handy’.

The last step was to fill the base with sand and water. Luckily when we moved house last year our extremely efficient removal men had packed the half used bag of kiln dried sand left by our block paving layers in 2006. In case we ever wanted to brush more kiln dried sand into our driveway. They recommended we do this every year after a jet wash. We had used precisely none of it. I wasn’t going to move it. I was going to leave it for our purchasers one of whom lays floors for a living and might have been more inclined to re sand his drive way.

But no it came in the van. After 10 years it is no longer kiln dried. More ‘beach after the tide has just gone out’ sand. With slugs and worms. I tried to remove most of those before entombing them in a plastic netball post base. It didn’t really pour. I scooped it in through the small hole. Slowly.

This step took longer than I thought.

All that remained was to wheel it around the side of the house, move some logs and ‘hide’ it between the two chimney stacks. It isn’t really that well hidden but then my kids are very unobservant so I am hopeful all will be well.

All I need to do now is find the ball pump for the ‘flat packed’ netball I also bought on line. I don’t know why I thought it would come inflated. It didn’t.

Birthday present wrapping used to be a whole lot easier.

 

 

 

 

Piggy in the Middle — June 12, 2016

Piggy in the Middle

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middle child

You often hear about ‘Middle Child Syndrome’. Well maybe you don’t but I have read a bit about it. As I have a middle child. He is very precious to me, as much as the other two, but Middle Child Syndrome suggests he won’t feel that unless I make a special effort. He will feel invisible. More prone to depression. Have nothing special to call his own.

I have a tendency to believe all such ‘syndromes’ are, frankly, bollocks. We make out of life what we can. But still I occasionally ponder it. As I am now.

And here is why. This weekend I have been able to spend a bit of time alone with Middlest. This hardly ever happens. When he was born I already had Eldest, a demanding toddler at the time. He hasn’t really got much less demanding over the years. He is a deep thinker prone to over-analysing and over stressing. He sucks up attention. And that is not at all his fault. It is partly because he does everything first and so such events as starting Senior School seem a big deal to me as a parent doing something new as well as a big deal to him. When the other two do it I am blasé. And expect them to be so too.

By the time Middlest was himself a toddler Youngest had come along and turned our lives upside down. She is my only daughter and so my relationship with her is different. She gravitates towards me and always has. I can remember a period when she was about two when she would not let anyone else do anything for her except me. Flattering but exhausting. She had me all to herself for two years once Eldest and Middlest had started school. And those two years were amazing. We both had a lovely time.

And then there are three of them and two of us. Naturally Middlest is often in a pair if we split them up. That is because he is great mates with both Eldest and Youngest. They have hobbies in common. Middlest has never been left ‘home alone’ whilst the other two go away camping for instance. He is always one of those doing the camping with one or other of the other two. If you catch my drift.

When Middlest was little he had numerous outpatient clinics for various minor medical issues; eyes, diet, asthma. We loved those afternoons with appointments. I would pick him up from school and we would go off alone and sit in a waiting room together chatting away. He still fondly remembers making a dodecahedron out of plastic hexagons that slotted together whilst waiting in the Moorfield’s eye clinic waiting room. That must be five years ago.

Being able to have time alone with him this weekend is happening mostly because Youngest is at Cub camp and we are down to two children. We can divide and conquer.

So yesterday we walked to his football tournament alone whilst Eldest and husband went running. The walk lasted about ten minutes. They were a good ten minutes though. Of all my children Middlest is the easiest to have a conversation with. I am  not saying I do not enjoy time alone with the other two but Middlest has this way about him. He is intelligent, perceptive and gently amusing. He listens well and makes thoughtful observations. He is eloquent. He is still young enough at 10, nearly 11, to care about what I say.

So in those few short minutes we discussed the EU Referendum and some of his friends’ frankly bizarre opinions on the same.  We came to some conclusions. Namely you shouldn’t believe everything you read and hear. Unless I tell him something, obviously.

Today husband went cycling with his mates as is his wont on a Sunday morning. Eldest had some language revision to do so I took Middlest to town to collect his new glasses and buy a birthday present for his Grandma.

It was lovely. Truly lovely. We chewed the cud. About all sorts. Marijuana. Balconies. School. Scouts. Girls. The EU again. And our lack of time together.

I would love to spend more time with him alone. With all of them actually. Life gets in the way. It is hectic and full on. I must try harder.

Just as we pulled back into the driveway Middlest asserted that in our average week of chaos the only time he gets me to himself is on the drive from home to piano lesson and later back. That drive lasts about three minutes.

As he put it “It’s not a very long time, mummy, but I really enjoy it!'”

Me too, son, me too.

 

Best Supporting Role…. — March 20, 2016

Best Supporting Role….

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So today I was in trouble. For a laundry related offence.

Today is the last day of term.  Excuse me, I am just going to take a moment here. Bear with, bear with. I’ll say it again, the last day of term. I am just going to sit here briefly and exhale forcefully and let my shoulders relax. And feel the release. The relief.

Ok sorry back with you now.

At this point I would just like to say for the record that I am extremely lucky that I do not have to go out to work. My husband works himself into the ground so that I can stay at home and take all the responsibility for the kids Monday through Friday. And although some days I am so intellectually bored that I could gnaw my own arm off most of the time this is a massive benefit to me and to our family. I can go to all my kids’ events and support them. Which is also fun for me. I can take them to hospital appointments. They can go to their myriad after school clubs and extra curricular activities. My husband does not have to worry about getting home or flying off to god knows where at the drop of a hat. I don’t have to find them holiday clubs. You get the drift.

So there we have it. We all benefit in different ways. Massively.

And this week has been extremely hectic, children’s activity wise. The usual last week of term flurry.

On Monday it was the Junior school cross country race. Which both Middlest and Youngest were taking part in. With varying degrees of enthusiasm. Running is one of Youngest’s many sporting abilities. She is good at it and she loves it. Mad girl, I blame her father. And running is not Middlest’s thing. At all.

But never mind following on from the cross country was a String ensemble concert for Junior school string players. This is Middlest’s thing. Playing the violin. I get the blame for this one.

So, apart from Scouts for Eldest, that was Monday.

On Tuesday Middlest had his violin exam and another concert. So I turned up again to watch him bow and pluck and generally do his thing. And made the other two watch again. We gave his football a miss. And went to the after concert tea and cake session instead.

On Wednesday Youngest had her class assembly which she had been diligently learning lines for all week. And playing the Sport Relief song on a loop for. Also all week. My ears, my ears. I had bought her the requested deely  boppers at some earlier point in the week.

After I had learnt all I could possibly learn about Sport Relief from their very informative class assembly I hot footed it over to the field to watch Middlest play his last ever football match for the Junior school. I was the only parent watching the C team. But I am glad I hiked over there as he scored a hat trick.  Just so you know the school fields, whilst sounding like they might be in close proximity to the assembly hall, are not. Its a good fifteen minute hike.

Any way I just had football training for Youngest, a piano lesson for Eldest and Cubs for Middlest to juggle after that.

That left Thursday. An easy day. I just needed to collect Eldest early and take him to his piano exam. And provide moral support. And tissues.

A while ago I booked a hair appointment for this morning. (Friday in case it isn’t as you read this). Squeezed in between the school drop off and the frankly ludicrous ‘last day of term’ noon pick up. No other day was going to work. I cannot imagine why (!).

Of course then I got a letter saying that the Senior school cross country was planned for the same morning.

So I could not go to watch Eldest. Well not without looking like a shaggy dog for the three weeks it would take me to get another appointment.

And to compound the issue I had washed his PE top overnight which was therefore still wet in the morning. And apparently it was essential he took it even though the letter said he could wear his rugby top. He wanted both ‘just in case’. In case of what?  He couldn’t expand on that, he was too cross about my lack of ability to provide a clean, dry PE shirt. So I was unable to provide the right kit, or my presence on the field. For once. The world had ended.

His parting comment as he got out of the car at school this morning was ‘Thanks for the support’. Accompanied by the glare. That glare I am becoming all too familiar with.

That hurts for two reasons.  One, he is too young for sarcasm, in my view. And two. Well I guess you can guess two.

Parenting. A thankless task. Literally.

Fares Please… — March 13, 2016

Fares Please…

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taxi

I am not really a car person. My husband is a car person. And likes to pour over brochures and specifications and trims. And I am not. To me a car gets you from A to B. With the cello. Not much else.

However I have reached a point in my parenting life when actually I am more of a car person. And that is because I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in it.

Driving in it. Sitting in it. Eating in it. Sleeping in it. Playing Solitaire in it. Reading in it. Highlighting programs of interest in the Radio Times in it. Planning menus in it. Generally living a large proportion of my life in it.

Take yesterday as a fairly standard example. It was Saturday. If it wasn’t then yet again I refer you to my scheduling habits for these blog entries. If you are still confused then you are clearly not a loyal reader. Please bone up. But anyway it was. A Saturday.

Youngest was playing soccer with her team away in Leighton Buzzard at 10am. Leighton Buzzard is a town I know well having spent my pre teen and teen years living there. My mother and one brother still live there. The journey used to take the best part of an hour. Then the powers that be built a new bypass and I can do it in 35 minutes with a following wind. Yesterday, however, I didn’t. One lane of that bypass was shut. I think some poor souls were litter picking. Or something. And then Leighton Buzzard hits grid lock on Saturday mornings.

So anyway that was my first hour in the car. Chatting to Youngest about life, Def Leppard and soccer. Mainly soccer.

There was a brief interlude where I actually watched football. In fact it wasn’t that brief. They kicked off late. And then played four quarters of 15 minutes with the obligatory team talks in between. This necessitated hubby taking Middlest with him to Eldest’s hockey match at school. As I was not going to be back.

Anyway we got back in the car. The traffic in LB had hit its lunch time peak. That lane was still closed. I decided in my infinite wisdom to drive straight to school to extract Middlest as he needed to be elsewhere too close to the end of Eldest’s match…which had also kicked off/bullied off/ whatever the hockey equivalent of kicked off is- off late too. It seemed to be a day for it.

I drew up in the bus stop next to the Astro pitch and hubby met me half way with Middlest. I set off home.

Clearly I am used to this journey as it is the school run. I set off on automatic pilot conveniently forgetting the flooded flood plains of the river in my village. Which I had commented on to Youngest merely minutes earlier on our journey from LB to school.

It was a shame I hadn’t thought about the implications of those floods on the river bridges in our neighbouring village which I needed to cross to get home. They were flooded and shut. Which I found out just as I approached them. There is another bridge over the river in a village about 10 miles further on. But I wasn’t prepared to risk that bridge also being closed. So we turned around and retraced our steps. Tyres.

We waved at school as we passed by again. And crawled through the traffic the other way. The way that I avoid at all costs. Bridges permitting.

Just as I was driving through my own village on my normal route which allows me to turn right into my driveway (I having learnt the hard way fairly early on the dangers of turning in left with loud children in the car and on a deadline) Middlest piped up that our road had been closed. At that end. Ah yes next door’s lead pipe replacement which seemed to have necessitated digging up the entire street. It hadn’t been closed when I had left home several decades earlier but it seemed the digging could not be accomplished with traffic signals alone and as hubby was leaving the road was in the process of being shut. I am glad Middlest remembered albeit not early enough for me to take the logical ‘other’ route.

I quickly changed tack and took a scenic route through the housing estates of my village to approach the drive from the left. We waved at our old house on the way. Turning into the drive left was made even harder than usual by the presence of an Anglian Water van and several workmen standing around looking pensive in the middle of the street.

So overall that journey took the best part of two hours. Which made us late for the rest of the day. I shoved food down Youngest and persuaded her into a shower and packed an overnight bag for her.

Then we set off again to town to drop Middlest at his party. Another crawl through that traffic that I avoid at all costs. Bridges permitting. And also road closures permitting. One critical road for this ‘bridge’ journey to town involves a street which has been shut for ‘essential’ gas works since February and isn’t due to re-open until May. Sigh.

So another 40 minutes of my life in the car.

There followed a rather pleasant interlude. I dropped Middlest at his Pokémon party in the local comic book store. And then Youngest and I had about an hour to kill before I needed to drop her off at the local pottery painting shop. We went to the library where it quickly became apparent why the multi storey had been so full. Some sort of event was in full swing blocking off the teenage fiction section. Anyway we had a browse and then a snack and drink in the café. Lovely.

I dropped her and plodded wearily back to the old voiture. At least on this journey I was alone and able to play Def Leppard at ear splitting volume and sing without being shouted at. Still the traffic was bad so yet again it took 40 minutes. It didn’t help that I had forgotten about my closed road until I had gone past the point where I could take the ‘other’ logical route. Again. More housing estate. Hi again old house (usual pang…).

It would be nice to say that was it. But it wasn’t. I went back out at about 5.30pm to collect Middlest from his party this time from his friend’s house. On the other side of town. The traffic hard calmed a bit so the whole trip took about an hour there and back. So not too bad. One half Def Leppard, one half Pokémon de-brief. I forgot about my closed road entirely this time but thankfully it had re-opened in the intervening period and was merely traffic signal controlled. I successfully negotiated turning into my drive for what felt like the umpteenth time that day.

And that was it. I turned off the cab sign for the day. A total of around five hours in the car. All told.

Poor hubby though. He had to go to get Eldest from his night hike at half past midnight. Yikes.

So there you have it. I guess I am a car person. By default. And the world’s worst paid taxi driver.

 

 

Just a Quickie… — March 10, 2016

Just a Quickie…

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So Eldest is revising for his next science test. On reproduction.

The topic started off quite benignly with pollen and wind assisted fertilisation and stamen. There were pretty pictures and bee attracting strategies.

The life cycle of a frog was mentioned at dinner one night.

And then things went quiet. I think they had started on human reproduction. Not something Eldest cares to discuss over meatballs. And who can blame him.

So tonight I was helping him fill in his key word sheet. They have one for each topic and it helps revision. This one didn’t hold any punches.

We meandered through the gamut of sexual organs, menstruation, hormones, birth, placentas and such.

I corrected some misapprehensions. For instance that the cervix is the gap between the vagina and the anus.

That in-vitro fertilisation is ‘how frogs do it’.

That the process of labour is like having leg cramp in a ‘delicate’ area. Well his teacher is male and I guess this is the nearest men can get to understanding it.

That Urethra Franklin was not a soul singer. OK I made that one up. Because I can. Ha ha.

But overall I was quite impressed with his knowledge and lack of tittering. Although it wasn’t completely absent. The tittering that is.

There is a diagram of the female reproductive system hastily drawn by me on the dining table. Without an anus. But with a cervix. To clarify it is on a piece of paper on the dining table in case you were worried.

And my son now understands that his parents had sex at least three times. He is grossed out.

Ha ha-er.