Wordless Wednesday
Posted under Wordless Wednesday
Posts Tagged ‘Megaboys’
A Tale of Two Boys
Posted under People I love
An Anglo-Saxon re-enactment … two boys … each quietly revealing their true nature in their choice of activity. I present Boy1 who made a beeline for…
… Weaving of Yore. And very pleased he was too with the couple of centimeters that he did. Meanwhile Boy2 …
… made straight for the pile of helmets, swords and shields. Hardly surprising for a boy who has claimed, rather fervently to ‘love fighting, Mummy. I love fighting’. Boy1 also had a go, but his heart was with the weaving.
Two of a kind? Not really. It never ceases to surprise me how different our two boys are. Except when it comes to smiling for the camera. Sit them together ‘nicely’ and ask them to smile and they’re like peas in a pod. They just…won’t…cooperate:
This is the best that I got, and that was because I said something rude to provoke a genuine a smile…
One day I WILL get a photo of them together, looking at the camera and not pulling a face. I WILL! But then that’s not how I think of them, that’s not how my memory will ‘replay’ them together. My memories of these years will be crammed full of two little boys, busy, together, happy and too absorbed in this/that/everything to sit still and post for silly old photos. I can live with that. x
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Playing by the rules
Posted under Day Trips
Little Miss Goodie Two Shoes, that’s me. Seems Bertie has inherited my tendencies since he quite often will anxiously enquire as to whether something that we’re doing is allowed. “Are you absolutely allowed to park the car here?”, he asked as we parked up on a grassy bank near to the start of the walk we did yesterday. If truth be known I’m not sure, but other people do it and thus I applied the ‘safety in numbers’ rule.
What I especially dislike, and actually stresses me out, is going ‘off the beaten path’… I keep to the footpath, strictly. MrSpud? Not so much, he’ll happily wander if it looks interesting enough/isn’t clearly marked as private/is a path that others have clearly trodden.
An interesting kind of pathway was spotted as we pottered along, but it was NOT A FOOTPATH. REPEAT…NOT AN ACTUAL FOOTPATH. They scrambled up a steep bank with me bleating at the back, and they were off.
I wasn’t happy. Up, up, up we went…leaving the nice and legal footpath down, down, down below. Worse, as we reached the top I spotted – scream – a dwelling through the trees.
Almost on the verge of tears at this point I sternly ordered my menfolk back. They ignored me. Even Bertie, the traitor. MrSpud pressed on muttering something about it ‘not being marked private’. Hesitating, I followed…heart in mouth and steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation with some old bloke and a shotgun.
No old bloke appeared. But what a weird place it was. All boarded up, locked but clearly still in use given the smell of booze wafting about.
Who lives in a house like this? It’s very reminiscent of every scout hut I’ve ever been to a dodgy disco in and certainly its position, hidden deep in the woods, would suggest something along those lines. Even stranger, a bunker just along from the hut…
And signs of a fire a stone’s throw away:
We scrambled back down to the official path and I instantly felt a lot happier, though slightly giddy at my brush with ‘danger’. I won’t go back, I’m too chicken, I’m too afraid of trolls and shouty old men. But I quite like the knowledge of what lurks in the woods.
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Career Clinic
Posted under People I love
Megaboys playing 'doctors' with a pencil for a stethoscope. Odd.
Diggy: “Mummy, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
Me: “Um…older?”
Diggy: “NO! What do you want to BE?”
Me: “Um…happy?”
Diggy, exasperated: “NOOOOOOO!!! What do you want to BE? Like I want to be a surfer boy and a parachute man, and Bertie wants to be a face painter…so what do YOU want to be?”
Me: “Oh, well I don’t want to be anything else. I’m already grown up and I have a proper job which is to [insert long boring description of my job]”
Diggy: [long silence]
Diggy, in a hushed and crestfallen voice: ”Mummy…that sounds really, really boring. So, what do you want to be when you’re a grown up?”
I might be 40 years old but my 4 year doesn’t think I’m a grown up. Does a happy little dance. What shall I be when I’m a grown up? Any suggestions?
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Swallows & Amazons
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.
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Silently screaming
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.
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Getting it all wrong
Posted under People I love
Anyone still here? I took an unplanned, extended blog break…partly going away on holiday and life getting in the way but, mostly, not having anything to say. Anyway…
When the Megaboys were babies I was in a state of near constant worry. There were the every day, moment-to-moment worries about whether they were too cold, too hot, getting enough milk/calcium/protein, eating too much sugar and salt, whether they were getting enough sleep etc etc. But, much worse that these ever present daily anxieties was a near constant, background worry that I was Getting It All Wrong. That, despite attending to their every need and following all the available advice, I was basically making a total hash of it. It seems quite laughable to me now but, when Bertie was a small baby and rubbish at napping, I seriously worried that he would be developmentally delayed through lack of sleep and it would be All My Fault because I was incapable of putting him down for a nap. These kind of parenting demons haunted me throughout the baby days. No wonder I dropped my baby weight pretty rapidly – just the sheer energy expended by maintaining my constant state of high anxiety melted those 5 stone away…
Eventually I relaxed in to it, and the boys grew from babies in to toddlers and pre-schoolers without incident. I stopped worrying about Getting It All Wrong and accepted that sometimes I’ll get it right and sometimes I’ll get it wrong but, for the most part, we’re on track. But, just recently, that old nagging fear of Getting It All Wrong has made a very unwelcome appearance. I can’t quite put my finger on why though.
I think we’re entering a new phase of parenting as the boys turn from pre-schoolers to almost-schoolers, so perhaps that’s it. I can see the challenges ahead are a whole lot more complex than the ones we’ve left behind and, at this stage, I feel completely ill-equipped for them. Also, we’re dealing with some fairly difficult behaviour from them at times and I’m completely at a loss to know how best to tackle it. But I know I’m not doing it right, because my 4 year old rather quietly, rightly and heart-breakingly, told me so.
Generally I can breeze through most of the pressure points of parenting by reminding myself of that old ‘this too shall pass’ adage. And perhaps this tricky stage will pass, but in the meantime it DOES need addressing somehow or other because they are testing boundaries and we have a responsibility to set them and enforce them. I don’t want to rule with a rod of iron but I can’t abide dreadful behaviour in children either.
But firm ‘management’ is tipping over in to shouty fishwish mummy once too often. And meeting their rage with my rage isn’t helping anyone, quite the reverse. I need some new tactics because my armoury of warnings, giving them choices, picking my battles, time out, walking away and yelling isn’t cutting it. I can’t expect them to address their behaviour until I’ve addressed my own – I think that’s the nub of it. I’m the parent, I’m supposed to lead by example and not fight fire with fire. Ah, amazing what happens when you decide to ‘blog something out’.
Any wise sages out there care to share some war stories, or tips or techniques? I don’t want to go in to battle with my children anymore, I want to enforce the boundaries and diffuse their frustration in a calm, adult manner. HELP.
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Let’s talk about love
Posted under People I love, Photography, Uncategorized
Let’s talk about love…not romantic love because I’m too old and too married for all that.
I think we’ll stick with motherly love, altogether a much more palatable subject and very topical if you’re in the UK (since it’s Mothering Sunday here, but I think not in the US?). I was treated to breakfast in bed ‘made’ by the Megaboys: brioche (straight up, no butter, no jam), grapes and a cupcake. Strangely the cake wasn’t for me, or the grapes, and I was only allowed one brioche. But the thought was there. Later I was ‘surprised’ with a bouquet of flowers, perhaps less surprising than intended since 4 year olds are totally incapable of keeping secrets (“Mummy, we’re going to surprise you with some flowers later!”). Typically, Diggy was less enthusiastic about the whole affair and woke up grumbling, “I don’t want it to be Happy Mothers Day I want to it to be LITTLE…BOYS…..DAY”.
I’ve wittered on before about motherly love or, more specifically, the feeling of being ‘in love’ (or not) with your children. I love them so much that I sometimes feel swamped by it, for want of a better word. And just when I feel like I’m drowning in love for them, it’s sometimes tempered by the knowledge that they will grow and move away and apart from me. There’s nothing I can do though, I’m programmed to love them forever. They will take my love for granted all their lives (as is right and is the natural order of things) but, as a parent, I know I should cherish these years of this exquisite, unquestioning love for me. Soon enough they will be teenagers and will think they know everything, and me and MrSpud will be so old hat, so embarrassing. So, for now, I’ll take their sweet kisses and fervent whispers of ‘you’re my BEST mummy…the best mummy in the world’ and store them up in a quiet corner of my heart…insurance for the days when doors are slammed and ‘I HATE YOU. I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN BORN’ becomes a constant refrain.
We chewed over the topic of motherly love a little last weekend at our mini-blogcamp. Bee and I took turns to unwittingly terrify Blanca about the trials of parenthood. I have pre-schooler boys, Bee has teenage girls. That’s quite a heady mix of ‘issues’ for someone yet to embark of parenthood to take on board. “Oh don’t worry!”, said Bee reassuringly. “Little children are very, very easy to love. You don’t get handed a teenager to deal with straight off, you get a tiny helpless baby.”
Her words have buzzed around my mind all week, “little children are very easy to love”. How right she is! They might not be very easy to manage, what with all the tantrums, tears, negotiations etc etc, but they are very easy to love….because they totally ADORE you and ADMIRE you. It’s a win:win situation….you become a total slave to them and their needs and, in return, they worship the ground you walk on. They get their basic needs met and a bucket of love to boot, and you get to walk round in a bubble of joy forever because these extraordinary little people worship the ground you walk on.
“You don’t get handed a teenager right off”, those words have also been niggling at me. Mostly in a ‘THANK GOD’ kind of way of course, but also because I’m beginning to see glimpses of what it might to be like to parent a teenager. Partly through my friendship with Bee, partly because I used to be a teenager myself. Shudder. Are teenage boys are better/easier than teenage girls? Please say yes…
It being Mothering Sunday I decided it was time to get a rare shot of me with the boys. Alas this means handing over the camera to MrSpud who clearly needs to read up a bit and join my Camera Club. At least it’s vaguely in focus, but the composition? Sigh….look at all that crap in the background, and that’ AFTER a major crop by me. It’s not the lovely shot I’d hoped for, but in the spirit of Getting in the Picture I am sharing it as a reminder to all your Snappy Bloggers that YOU need to get in front of the camera too sometimes.
Happy Mothering Sunday to us all – with thanks and love to all the mothers everywhere, breeding and nurturing the future of the world. No wonder we’re knackered…
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Making progress
Posted under Things I hate
My granny square blanket is taking shape and, frankly, I’m having a moment of NAKED pride at my achievements. Of course one shouldn’t really blow one’s own horn etc etc, but what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t shamelessly show off whenever it pleases you?
Ideally there would be a photo of the Work In Progress but it’s late, it’s dark, I’m tired and frankly I can’t really be bothered. So instead I have snitched a photo from my Photo A Day project on Flickr, of lovely pins. Too pretty to use of course but they look nice and, as we all know, that’s what counts. Style over substance, that’s my motto and I’m sticking to it.
Actually I had a bit of a false start, ahem. The first week of Grannies was good, but the second round of each Granny was quite hard going. Also they looked very ugly in terms of colour scheme. And I was using the wrong size hook (basic schoolgirl error). So I’ve relegated the first dozen Grannies the Home for Old Biddies (AKA donated to Megaboys for their current crochet obsession…which mostly consists of unravelling…shudders).
I’ve learnt a few lessons and these are they:
1. Always read the pattern. This will save a few tears and tantrums along the way.
2. If it feels wrong, it probably is.
3. A bad workman always blames his tools. And a good crochetwoman always uses the right size hook and doesn’t just ‘wing it’.
4. Many people have a natural ability to blend colour and tones effortlessly. I am not one of them. My attempts looked like dog vomit. A planned colour scheme works much better for me.
5. Yarn is really really pricey if you get all fancy and insist on cashmere/merino mix.
6. Cheap yarn is really horrible and scratchy.
7. It’s going to take a while until I can crochet and talk at the same time.
8. Or crochet without my tongue hanging out in concentration…
Some day soon I’ll show you how it’s going. But, be assured, the dog vomit grannies will never see the light of day. Mostly because the Megaboys will have unravelled them and thank the Lord for that….
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Wordless Wednesday
Posted under People I love, Wordless Wednesday
‘For unto us a child is born…’
