Posted under parenting
“Mummy. I’m really enjoying The Secret Seven but I’m worried about The Famous Five because if no-one is reading them or listening to them then, well, they’re not really that famous are they?”
I think it’s the 6 year old version of ‘If a tree falls in a forrest and there’s no one around to hear it, did it happen?’. I think I prefer Bertie’s version and I’m certain Enid Blyton would agree.
Posted under parenting
Bertie: “When can I have a DS or a Wii?”
Me: “Never”
Bertie: “But xyz has one”
Me: “So? I’m not xyz’s mother”
Bertie: “But that’s not fair. xyz has one, why can’t I”
Me: “Because I said so and I’m your mother”
Bertie: “But xyz’s mum lets xyz have one”
Me: “And if xyz had a big spot on the end of his nose would you want one too? If xyz jumped off a cliff, would you too?”
And in that 60 seconds time had stood still and reversed to the late 1970s and I’d turned in to my mother. It was always coming.
Posted under parenting
For the Megaboys, it definitely is all about the winning. The taking part? Not so much. I’m all in favour of encouraging a competitive spirit in children but, cough, we don’t seem to need to encourage it in our boys. Quite the reverse in fact. ‘No one likes a bad loser’, ‘it’s not a race’, ‘it doesn’t matter, it’s just a game’, ‘never mind, better luck next time’, ‘well, that’s just the way it goes sometimes…you win some…you lose some’…these are phrases which come out of my mouth with boring regularity, usually whilst pinning a board game to the floor to prevent it being flung across the room in fury and listening to at least one child, sometimes two (bonus!), howling because they lost.
Are all children thus? Are boys worse? Is this just a stage, will it pass? I can’t make them any less competitive because that’s just the way they are, I suppose all I can do is help them learn to control their emotions when things don’t turn out the way they want. I’m not really in a position to judge since I was a TERRIBLE loser as a child. I suppose it just goes away when a child is mature enough to feel the social pressure of how unacceptable it is to throw a wobbler when you lose.
Boardgames have become battlegrounds. I shy away from suggesting them because I know it will end up with at least one of them raging. Perhaps I should just suck it up and play MORE games and not less, to let them experience losing as much as possible in the privacy of our own home where there aren’t so many people to point and stare in horror as it all unravels at the end. I don’t let them win. Ever. Turns out I’m as competitive as they are, ha. But Bertie has unusual luck in games of chance, and has good strategies for other ‘non chance’ games. That doesn’t help matters. The more he wins, the more expects to win. He’s a fast runner and cycler and is very good at tennis and swimming and thus often ‘wins’ athletically too. He’ll be joining various activities with older boys soon, and hopefully that will help matters a bit.
What a muddle. So, I want to nurture their competitive streaks because they are going to need that in life. But I want them to manage their emotions to deal with the disappointment of losing, but that’s a huge ask at age 4 and 5. I don’t want to play boardgames with them because I can’t stand the tantrums. But I want them to play more boardgames so that they get used to ‘you win some..you lose some’.
I don’t know what the answer is, but I know that they need to learn that you can’t be the best at everything, you can’t always be the winner and to accept winning and losing with equal grace. It’s hard to know which is more unpalatable, a bad loser or a smug winner.
What to do?
Posted under parenting
Ship ahoy! The perfect, perfect weather continued today. I just can’t believe how wonderful the weather has been for the whole Easter holidays, and it’s set fair for the next 5 days too. We’re just pootling about in the garden, to the beach…not going far, not doing much because who needs to when the sun is shining?
Bertie made a boat today, at the bottom of the garden. I don’t think he’s thought that through as there’s no navigable water anywhere near. I’m not sure what prompted this sudden creation, other than the readiness of raw materials and the will to build stuff. It’s actually pretty cool although, sits down and fans self, he NAILED IT TOGETHER HIMSELF. Yes, my 5yo used nails and hammer and wood unsupervised (for the most part) and it didn’t end with a trip to A&E. Is this the moment in my parenting career when I have to stop with the helicopter mothering, stop with the endless ‘be careful!’…’slowly’…’mind you don’t trip/stab youself/poke someone in the eye?’ Am I ready for that?
Alas wearyness and possibly a bit too much sun made for a rather grumpy Bertie. He wasn’t that keen on sharing his creation with Diggy. I think there’s a bit of poking going on here (‘be careful, you could have someone’s eye out with that!’). The sticks are oars by the way. But then you knew that.
First attempt at team photo. Bertie looking stroppy:
Second attempt. Bertie looking happy, but only because he’s positioned himself to cover up Diggy entirely to make sure he claims ownership of the boat for the archive photograph:
Grumpy, both of them:
Weird face from Diggy:
Aha, finally! The official Team Photo
Shortly afterwards Diggy fell in the nettles, wet his pants and was stung by a bee in a 10 minute period. Poor chap! It’s tough being a sailor.
Posted under parenting
Sun, sand, sea, seaside, shorts, Spring…what perfect weather, what a perfect few hours just poodling about on the beach. The boys played, me and MrSpud read the paper and did that old ‘how times change’ because last year we couldn’t take our eyes off those Megaboys in case they drowned/got in to mischief. There was coffee, and cake. And a trip on the ferry to buy fresh fish. Pretty idyllic by anyone’s standards.
But OH the moaning we had to put up with getting out of the house. One of our boys is being rather, how shall I say…’testing’ at the moment. Today’s ‘test’ involved a major whinge about going to the beach because we’d already been to the beach once this week. I should add that they were different beaches, not that it’s particularly relevant because SHUT UP…do these children not know how fortunate they are to live within an easy drive of a dozen gorgeous beaches? I am heartily sick of being ‘tested’ on a daily basis and have employed every strategy I know to tackle some of the issues.
I feel ground down. I know it’s normal boundary testing, I know it will pass, I know ignoring is the best strategy for most of the low grade ‘testing’. But I feel like giving him a good shake. Moaning about going to the beach because it’s boring? Yeah, looks really boring from that photo doesn’t it?
Not seen. Me. Silently screaming.
Posted under parenting
Raising boys…raising girls…raising children. Are they the same? I’m completely ill qualified to make any kind of judgement since I am the mother of boys, and boys alone. And that’s how it will stay. There will be no more Baby Spuds, for various reasons but not least because I don’t want any Girl Baby Spuds. Girls are great, don’t get me wrong, I am one myself etc etc…I just don’t want to parent Girl Spuds…I’m totally blissed out by my Boy Spuds. I love our family dynamic…one MrSpud, Two BoySpuds, One Coach Potato….and that’s the way it will stay.
So, are boys different? When Bertie, my first born, was about 5 seconds only I read ‘Raising Boys: Why Boys are Different and How to Help Them Become Happy and Well-Balanced Men’ by Steve Biddulph. OH MY GOD! Look at the title, sheesh, way to go and heap on the responsiblity. Scream. I can’t remember much about it, although I distinctly remember that boys are generally not ready for formalised learning until they are 7(ish) and that they need male mentors. I can remember panicking about the ‘male mentor’ thing but life moves on, and we have a fair number around these days. And I’ve cut my hair really, really short…so…I count, right?
In recent weeks I’ve been confronted with the statement that ‘boys do better if they are allowed to take risks’. On TV (thank you St Gareth Malone via the BBC’s Extraordinary School for Boys) and through another Mum of Boys. I vaguely considered this, and then dismissed it as I’m not one of life’s risk takers and, thus, I don’t encourage it in others.
Or I didn’t, until yesterday. Bertie went to school. The sun shone. I thanked the Google gods for giving me a job which is totally flexible, took the day off and kept Diggy out of nursery. We hung out a bit and then headed down the fields.
Our original plan had been to gather some apples to feed to the horses in the field at the bottom of the garden. But a hole in the bag meant we were down to only 2 apples by the time we’d got there, and thus that activity was over pretty fast. We continued…
We got to the stream, shallow but fast and with no clear way across other than a few big stones and slippy bits of concrete. My plan was hand out and watch the water. Diggy’s plan was to spend 2 hours IN the stream, crossing backwards and forwards, leaping from stone to stone, testing the sailing capacities of every leaf/stone/piece of bark around.
I resisted for about 30 seconds and then realised I should just let him DO IT! Most likely the risk involved him tipping over, filling his boots and getting wet…perhaps with a graze. The most likely worst case was he would fall and bash his head. The VERY worst is that he would fall and smack his head and kill himself but, let’s face it, he could do that anywhere.
So, despite my usual reticence, I just let him ‘be’. I didn’t say ‘be careful’, or ‘slowly!’ or ‘mind out!’ and all those usual things mummies say because, let’s face it, what’s the point? I said ‘be careful’ once and Diggy said, in measured tones, ‘Mummy..remember..I’m In Charge’.
Action shot: arrghhhh….
So, was I right to let him take a few risks? Should I let him? But is it limited to boys…should girls be ‘allowed’ or indeed ‘encouraged’ to take risks? Do we need more risk takers?
Posted under parenting
When my boys were babies I thought to answer to any parenting issue could be found in books or on the internet. No problem was insurmountable, if something wasn’t ‘working’ I just hadn’t researched the issue deeply enough. A bit more googling, a smidge more online chat, the purchase of yet another parenting tome would sort it.
Of course I was quite wrong, the answers to parenting problems can’t be found in books. Books are good for suggestions, online communities more so and the latter was a wonderful support network for me throughout those dark days. Even if no-one could help me learn how to put a baby down for a nap/not wake up 10 times a night/feed without being constantly distracted etc, they could suggest things that might work whilst holding my hand and offer much needed sympathy and empathy.
When Bertie was about 1 or so, I read somewhere that, as a parent, I am the expert of my own child. I wish I could remember where I read it, because it struck me as being so profound. It’s a pretty common theory now but, a few years back, it was the first time I’d come across this idea despite my endless reading and research. It was so ‘freeing’ for me because, in a second, I felt liberated from the constant, gnawing anxiety of ‘always wanting to do the right thing’. I read all the research, I followed all the guidelines…I breastfed exclusively for 6 months, the boys’ slept in our rooms for the first 6 months, they were weaned at 6 months and not a second before etc etc. I felt slightly ‘panicked’ all of the time but reading, and suddenly understanding, that I know more about my children than anyone else and that what I, as their parent, think/know/suspect counts every bit as much as the professionals.
I doubt I would have done much differently had I had this moment of clarity earlier on, but perhaps I might have panicked a little less. Perhaps I’d had done all the reading, followed the guidelines but just relaxed in to my decision rather than being so tediously dogmatic about it. Who knows. It doesn’t matter, it’s over now anyway.
But being an ‘expert in my own child’ paid some dividends this week. I potty trained Diggy in a morning. We started at 8am, he had one accident at 10am. After than he utterly refused any attempts to make him sit on the potty, insisting that he knew himself when he needed to go. And he did. And that was that. since then he’s been clean and dry, and just takes himself off to the loo when he needs it. Or asks to use it when we’re out an about. Job done.
So what’s so special about that? Well, I think it’s fairly unusual to be clean and dry, and going to the loo totally unaided and unprompted in a morning. But I’m not boasting. I’ve got nothing much to boast about because he’s 3.5 years old. And that, of course, is REALLY old to be toilet trained. I’m way way way off the ‘guidelines’. And this is our 5th or 6th attempt at potty training, so I’m not exactly up there in a medal position as potty training goes.
What’s ‘special’ is that I don’t care that it’s taken us until he’s 3.5 to potty train him. Doesn’t matter to me that he’s way, way behind the ‘normal’ and probably a few people have been raising eyebrows that he’s been in nappies for so long. Knowing that I am the ‘expert of Diggy’ gave me enough confidence to knock our previous attempts on the head very rapidly since he clearly wasn’t ready. Every previous attempt has been ‘game over’ by lunchtime, with a massive pile of soggy clothes and Diggy crying and asking for a nappy. The ‘books’ might say he must SURELY be ready at age 3ish, but the child was saying otherwise.
And that has proved to be so. Because when he was ready, he was REALLY ready. And it was done easily, painlessly and without a pile of soggy pants. He’s so matter of fact about it all, like he’s been out of nappies for years. He can’t understand what all the fuss is about with me and MrSpud heaping praise on him. In fact we’re going to have to stop all the whooping, and just treat it as the norm as he is clearly doing.
A very dear friend of mine is due to give birth to her first child very shortly, and my sister-in-law in a few months. Of course there will the usual pile of presents and a few handmade hooky gifts of course. But what I would love to give them is the confidence to know that they will be the experts in their children, an understanding that the professionals have an essential role in advising and guiding and providing up to date information on current research. But, in the end, parenting isn’t a science – far from it. It’s not even an art. It’s just parenting, it’s just life, just a bunch of people who love each other muddling through the parenting path..one sleepless night at a time. So, to Marie and Lisa…I give you the gift of confidence in your instincts and doing what is right for YOUR child and YOUR family. One size doesn’t fit all, the answers can’t be found in books, sometimes there just aren’t any answers…sometimes you just have to put your head down and battle through it. All things shall be well. All manner of things shall be well. xxx
Posted under parenting, Photography
Tara’s theme this week is ‘Playtime’ which is a whole lot easier than previous Gallery themes. A quick trawl through my archive unearthed a million shots of the Megaboys in the park having a ball and yet, curiously, not one of me chewing my own arm off out of boredom. Curious, since that is how I spend pretty much every trip to the swings because….sssshhh….I absolutely HATE the swings and always have done. It’s my least favourite Mummy Chore I think. All that hanging around and ‘look at me!’ and ‘will you push me?’ blah blah. It’s better now that both boys can confidently climb up anything, but in that past there was that boring ‘hovering’ that had to be done in the hope of avoiding a trip to A&E.
A friend of mine with older children described to me, with great glee, the moment when her youngest learnt how to swing without help. She said it was like one of the Great Shackles of Parenthood being lifted from her shoulders. Roll on that day, I say.
I think my lack of love for the park shows in the way I process my swings shot. Kind of moody huh?
But, take me out of the park environment, and Playtime starts to look a whole lot more vibrant!
Posted under parenting
I’m sitting on my hands. I’ve some news to share, really exciting news. But I can’t share it for a while. Quietly screams…
So here’s Diggy, fast asleep this evening…perma thumb in his mouth of course. Looking so angelic and, to be fair, his behaviour has massively improved in recent weeks. I no longer laugh in the faces of strangers who stop me in the street to admire his white blonde curls and tell me he ‘looks like an angel’. Love that boy xx
Earlier this week I splatted a few of my demons. And on Facebook of all places. Opens brackets and mounts soap box…I wish Facebook would push off. It’s not that interesting, it’s clunky as hell, it has all kinds of appalling and sneaky privacy issues and ‘keeps me connected’ with people I’d rather forget. And yet I can’t bring myself to delete my account. What if I ‘miss out’? (on what?). Plus, I really really enjoy some of Ye Olde Photos which organised and motivated school friends post up from time to time. I hardly ever go on FB anymore, it’s like my dirty little secret. Closes brackets and steps off soap box.
So, I was pottering around Facebook and I spotted that an old school friend had added yet another 80′s horror school photo. I clicked on the thumbnail and, in a heartbeat, I was 13 years old and the ‘cool older boys’ were staring at me, striking a pose and snapped in their usual ‘lair’. I had a really strong physical reaction to the sight of 4 rather feeble looking 15 year olds with shocking hair and sleeveless sweaters tucked in to their pleated front trousers. FFS I’m 39 years old but, apparently, old habits die hard.
They weren’t unpleasant, those boys. They weren’t bullies, they weren’t bad. They were just…cool. We were all in awe of them, and were desperate for them to notice us and like us. Ideally, we wanted them to be our boyfriends but we were clumpy 13 year olds and that was out of the question of course. They would hang out outside the ‘bootroom’ during break, lunch and after school…a vantage point which meant they could keep an eye on the comings and goings of the school. I would watch them from my day room, up high..safe…wishing…hoping…
But every time I walked past them, they’d go quiet. I’d look at my shoes, clutch my books to me tighter and scurry past. Then I’d hear talking, whispering, laughing and I’d was certain it was about me. Eventually I adopted a ‘safety in numbers’ approach and would only go past them with a couple of friends. It made us bolder, but still there would be the silence…the laughing.
So I gave in. I couldn’t BEAR to walk past them anymore, I couldn’t stand the whispering. So I would look to see if they were ‘in place’ and, if they were, I would walk the long way (very long) around the front of the school to get to where I needed to be. Anything to avoid the whispering…the laughing..the silence.
Time passed. Two of them left a year later, the other two went on to the 6th form and the Bootroom was no longer their lair. I got older. I cared less. And eventually ‘the fear’ left me.
And I never gave it another thought until a few days back when Facebook slung my teenage past in my face. I peered at their faces, the faces of BOYS with ridiculous haircuts. I didn’t laugh at my young self for feeling the way I did, because I know exactly how painful it was at the time, and how skin crawlingly awful it was to be that teenage girl. But I know now, as I did then, that they weren’t unpleasant or cruel boys. Very possibly most of the silence…laughing…talking wasn’t aimed at me at all. I doubt that the memory of that overwhelming feeling of self-doubt will ever leave me.
I couldn’t resist the temptation to click to see if I could access their Facebook accounts and, oh joy, I could get in to one. What a let down! He’s just a regular 40 something bloke, his bleach blonde hair gelled at 90 degrees long gone, his breathtaking good looks faded, his chiseled cheekbones sunken in to his face. He looked so appallingly normal. Like someone I’d like to have a drink with, talk about old times with, reminisce with. Ha! Reminisce with someone I never, ever EVER dared even speak to for the 4-5 years we went to school with. For the simple reason that he was cool, and I was not.
I fear the teenage years for my boys. Life is complicated, there’s no doubting that. But the teenage years are fraught. It’s a pity they turn out to be, generally, the most formative years of your life. The years where you either knuckle down and pass the exams that matter, or you don’t. The years where you get comfortable in your skin and shine, or you don’t. The years where you find enough of yourself to keep steady, or you go off the rails. Urgh. I’m exaggerating to an extent but I’m certain that our teenage years are critical to shaping who we are. It’s a pity all those hormones get in the way.
So, angels and demons….two angels sent from heaven to be my babies….four teenage demons defeated. I win.
x
Posted under parenting, Photography
Oh, that old classic ‘pen’ shot. I don’t think I’ve done one of these before. It’s quite annoying that my children didn’t think to arrange them in so that similar shades/tones weren’t adjacent. Must get them in to Colour Appreciation Boot Camp to avoid this in the future. Taken with the Lensbaby of course. What else? Can’t…get…it…off…my…camera…send…help.
Random selection of the World According to Diggy (3) today:
Me: Look! Look over there, can you see that animal that looks like a really big rabbit? That’s a hare…look how fast he can run!
Diggy: [disappointed voice] oh. I thought it was a reindeer
Later…
Me: Who did you play with at nursery today?
Diggy: Just my own self. Who did you play with?
Me: No one. I was working.
Diggy: And did you do tidy up time afterwards?
Me: No. I didn’t need to
Diggy: [stern voice] Well, that was very naughty behaviour.
