Tuesday 30 September 2008

Point in case


Luke has just waltzed downstairs with an armful of dirty football kit (note the time) and the suggestion of mild panic across his face, and said, I quote ‘will this be washed and dry for tomorrow morning?’

‘Will this be washed and dry for tomorrow morning’ !!!!

Whilst I crouched by the washing machine, waiting for the door to release – it does not like being disturbed once it’s got up to the programmed drying temperatures, drying cushion covers is so much nicer than washing filthy LFC kits – Luke also requested that I iron his ‘going out’ t-shirt as he’s got a birthday dinner to go to tomorrow. I did ask why he couldn’t do it.

‘Cos I don’t know how to.’
‘So you could make the effort to learn how.’
No audible response.
‘You can do loads of things if you take the time to learn’ I say.
‘But I know loads of things, I'm clever already. I know how to do some things that you don’t Mum’.
‘Yes Luke, but there’s nothing that you can do that I can’t learn’.

I was pleased with my reply and hoped that it would be one of those comments that would stick in his mind forever and be a vital building block of his eventual well rounded personality.


But of course he piped up with something about playing sodding football…. I’ll shut up and concede that the point was missed entirely and I’ll get on with ironing the shirt.

Warnings!

I'm exhausted and I can pin point the reason, in fact there are two. (Technically speaking there are three).

To anyone who plans to have children I wish to issue two friendly warnings:

a) Never underestimate how much washing you will do once you have kids.
b) Never underestimate how much food your [male] children will eat.

You can mentally prepare for the onslaught of dirty washing by imagining how much you’ll get, and even plan ahead for it by investing in a fancy pants machine, but you will not fail to be surprised, astonished even, at the sheer volume of dirty washing a child generates (multiply by number of kids). You may think ‘Oh, it might mean that I go from washing 3 or 4 times a week to perhaps 7’. That’s a reasonable assumption to make. However, so far, I have just put on wash number 3 of the day. And there’s more left in the basket. And today is very average. Now I'm not one of these mums that washes stuff after one wear but nearly all boys will find mess/dirt (and some wet their bed for years) and almost every boy will leave towels to fester in a heap in their bedrooms (on top of their dirty pants and socks, obviously). And then there’s getting all this washing dried, ironed and put away but that’s just a whole different ball game. Be warned!

As for the endless eating, here’s my coping mechanism: Get home from school and fill the kids up on muffins/crumpets/heavy duty cereal (I'm talking Shreddies, no sugar, obviously, or muesli) and then cook a huge dinner, usually filled out with rice or pasta, as quickly as possible. Cereal is then usually requested for ‘pudding’. I keep the fruit bowl stocked and the boys are welcome to eat as much as they like – on an average day I get through 8 apples, a bunch of grapes and a few bananas. The boys also get through nearly a loaf of bread a day. Oh, you gotta be rich to have boys!

Monday 29 September 2008

Ellis!!!



My middle son, Ellis, is a lore unto himself....Here is a photo of his old footie boots, which he took to upload onto ebay. His intention is to sell his (old, smelly, dirty) boots for hard cash.

Luke was watching the proceedings and commented to Eli that he couldn't sell dirty boots.

Ellis had it covered - this is what he'd typed in his description:

'Football boots, T90, size 5. Muddy but I will clean them'

Max reading

I've just listened to Max reading his school book, which he read with enthusiasm, great expression and gusto! I wrote down in his contact book that he read well and that we'd like a new book. I signed it 'Mum' and put a smiley face next to my name.

Max is very pleased with his efforts and has just awarded himself a sticker and took it upon himself to write in his contact book too:

Well dun max :-) xxx

Shaun the Sheep


I have just spent a delightful 20 minutes with my eldest. It was our 4 weekly ritual of cutting his hair (we’re so busy most days that Luke has to book an appointment!)

So we settle down in the kitchen and I clip his hair with the clippers up to the crown and then scissor the top and sides. His hair is really thick and takes me quite a while to do evenly. I positively make the most of my captured first born as it’s not very often he sits still and talks to me!

We discussed his friends’ haircuts and I do chuckle at the fact that Luke actually pretends to his friends that he goes to the barbers have his hair cut – admitting that your mum does it is secondary school suicide apparently. But whilst he would be the laughing stock if his mates knew that it was mum that did his barnet he does appreciate that I do a good job, albeit self taught and with plenty of less than satisfactory practises behind us….

Luke sits on the dining chair, happily chatting away about how his hair cut will be admired by the boys (‘did the ginger guy do it for you? He’s put a box shape in it’) and noticed by the girls. Luke is unashamedly a sheep and will do whatever is required to be accepted and liked. Me, being me and demanding answers and explanations to everything, used to be very fearful of Luke’s future for having such a, what I thought, narrow minded view of the world. I’ve always promoted questioning and being individual and, above all, autonomy.

Now Luke’s at big school I’ve mellowed. He’s so happy having a large set of friends, he’s popular and I'm grateful for that. In my day the kid with the divorced parents were the unpopular (often poor) ones that made their lonely way home on the bus on their own. I see Luke with his friends and he’s in his element. He’s a lucky boy.

I'm happy that he likes my haircut, even if he does pretend to his mates that a bloke did it at that cool place opposite the train station for 15(!) quid!

Saturday 27 September 2008

Saturdays and Football


Saturdays are Dad's day, ie the boys spend the day with their father. He lives a few short miles away and the boys are very close to him. By 10am my boys have been collected and are usually on their way to Eli's football match. I would ordinarily get on with the business that is 'me time' however today I wanted my 'me time' to be spent enjoying my boys, or at least being a supporter on the touch line. This morning was beautiful and sunny and crips and fresh and warm and I enjoyed watching (most of) the match, even though, despite having been a footie mum for 8 years now, I still do not understand most of the rules...I don't need to and in fact, I've decided that it's better that I'm ignorant as it keeps me slightly removed from what is the boys' and their dad's shared interest. I enjoy watching X-Factor on a Saturday night with the boys, Dad enjoys footie with them.

Also, being so girlie and useless (Luke actually encouraged me to try some keepie upies this morning and was very disappointed, frustrated and ultimately embarrassed by me) means that my boys really do impress me even more. Luke is 12, Ellis nearly 11 and so when they know more about something than I do it fills me with pride that they're growing into young men now. It's so easy to keep a baby image, well toddler at least, in my mind's eye, but days like today, when they're absorbed in a game I don't understand (but nevertheless enjoy watching) and commenting to their dad about 'free kicks' and 'off side' I can stand back and just watch. I'm not involved, I'm just a spectator and in my experience that's usually the best place for a mum to be.

(Photo is of our visit to Wembley stadium last month to watch Soccer Aid, which they enjoyed even with me being more interested in the mexican wave than of the match...!)

Sugar rush

I want to type that not every day is filled with laughter….but no day could possibly be. I’ve had a pretty rubbish time of things with Max since he came out of school yesterday and all I seem to have done is moan and nag and shout at him. I gave him his pocket money that my nan, GP, gave him and he spent a quid of it on chocolate. He got a sugar rush which mixed with my fretful mood like water and oil. Soon after the rush came the down and we had tears…bloody chocolate is evil stuff to a six year old on a Friday afternoon and there should be a health warning on the packet. (To be fair my mood was not the best this afternoon having actually got sucked in to [buying!!!!] a loyalty card from The Body Shop. I only went in there for a sniff and maybe some free samples and ideas for my sister’s birthday, and came out with a very expensive eyeshadow, which incidentally was not the same one as the sample that I tried, and a loyalty card which promises free gifts and 10% off purchases but plays down the fact that I have to spend 50 quid before I'm entitled to a fiver’s worth of Body Shop loveliness – nothing in the shop costs less than 8 quid as far as I could see…
I digress, I have found that at least two of my children are very ‘sugar sensitive’, I can even tell when they’ve had too much ketchup as their moods are elevated and their energy levels soar before tantrums and tears. The knowledge that food does have an effect on children’s behaviour, and that of adults too probably, is a great tool to have when managing (is that the right word?) kids. We eat a well balanced diet and I'm pretty strict with what I call crap food (processed, fatty, sugary). They eat tons of fruit and are healthy on it. I also know that giving the boys a meat and two (or four) veg kind of dinner calms them.

So when I look back on Max’s strop yesterday I almost (ALMOST) forgive him as I know that it’s my own stupid fault for letting him eat crap. I shall experiment further…

Friday 26 September 2008

DIARY OF ONE MUM

I've kept diaries for years. Every one of them for different reasons usually. Some to document my own school holiday, some to make sense of teenage angst, some to document pregnancies, some to cry into and another one to make scribbles about the funny things that kids do. If there's one thing that I want to read back when I'm old and grey it will be the chuckles, the smiles and the belly laughs that my children have given me. And so I write them down, scribbles, scrawls on the backs of old shopping receipts, anything to hand, just to capture when and how my boys made me laugh. Like the time when I was in my car sitting in a traffic queue. The car in front was a learner and Ellis, aged 9 and sitting next to me, read out the sticker: 'Please be patient, you were a learner once'. Ellis, very seriously commented 'No I wasn't'.


Me and max (3) in my car, driving along and I was teasing him a bit.
'Don't tease me mum' he said.
'Sorry Max, I won't tease you anymore'
'I don't like teasing' he said
'I know, sorry'
'But I do like Maltesers'

Or Max, aged 5, riding his scooter - 'Mum I'm puffed out. How do I get puffed in?'

Luke, aged 9, wanting to watch Dr Who on the telly cos he'd heard that the 'garlics' were going to be on...

Putting on Max's shoes when he was 3 and we were messing around, having a giggle. 'What are we like?!' I said. Max replied 'Chocolate'.

My life, today, goes something like this: Wake at 6.30am, get kids up, get their breakfast, do their lunches, get the washing on, do the washing up, iron uniform as necessary, fill out permission slips and consent forms that weren't produced the previous night, hunt for missing bits of desperately needed (and lost) football kit, get myself looking presentable, get washing out and more washing in and then we can finally leave the house at 8am. Do the school run, having run into Sainsbury first for an emergency pressie as we've nearly always forgotten someone's birthday, school drop off and then I get 20 minutes of pure me time whilst I drive to work, listening to my tunes as loud as I can bear. I work from 9am to 3pm, doing a job I enjoy, with people I love, in a very cool little corner of the world. I then have another 20 blissful minutes to myself whilst I head back to school to collect my brood. It might take half an hour to gather all of said brood, with their accompanying bits, bobs, books and homework (we hardly ever come home with a full uniform) and then it's often another trip to Sainsbury for something that I'd forgotten on the Big Shop, or it might be that I've run out of cat food, so invariably 'nipping in for cat food' turns into a stressful half hour trying to coax the boys away from the CDs and then bribing them with sweets, all the while the pressure's on to get home and present my family with a hot, nourishing, cheap and, most of all, quick dinner so the pace is fast and furious as we're also beating the clock cos Ellis has footie practise in a while too. Quick call from the car to my [infirm] mum to see if she needs anything, and sometimes she will need shopping or she'll ask me to go round cos she can't get a jar open. Or I'll get mum some electric put on her key so the boys and I do that before we can go home. Now the pace really hots up as I march straight to the kitchen and turn the oven on before I've taken my jacket off; I'm also pulling out the washing from the machine and throwing it over radiators whilst ignoring my children. Dinner is cooked at the same time that the phone is pressed to my ear sorting out a new car insurance policy or phoning British Gas to ask why they've suddenly taken £92 out of my account this month as opposed to the agreed £65. I get a text from a dear friend, asking if I'm free for coffee, I stand still and try to figure out when I might be able to do that but then my thought is interrupted when Ellis comes into the kitchen to say 'I've got training soon mum, is dinner nearly ready?'. So dinner will be served (to the boys) whilst I am still on hold to British Gas...whilst on hold I might as well clean the loo and bathroom, by which time it's time to go out again, picking up Eli's friends as I go. Footie training finishes at 8am, by which time Marin might be down for a visit and so I'll greet him with a head full of 'things still to do' and ask him if he'll kindly pick up ellis whilst I get on with our dinner. (I actually love cooking for Marin so that bit's not a chore). I'll do more laundry whilst waiting for dinner to cook and, if I'm really lucky, will have time to hear Max read before I jump in the shower at 9pm. I'll eat at 9.30 and then a glass of wine signifies the end of my day and I can finally sit on my sofa until my body caves and orders me to bed...

That's my day, nearly every single day. And it's my life; we are the choices that we make and I've made some right cracking ones! But my life is busy and so I find my energy from the things my boys say and do that make me laugh. Life is all about balance and I just hope that I'm getting it right!