Motherland; Good For Whatever Soul I Have Left

 I'm really enjoying Motherland on Netflix just now.

If you haven't caught it yet - have a go.  It is a somewhat slightly exaggerated take on the trials and tribulations of parenting school-age children and the school-gate politics that arise.

As a mama to three boys and having dealt with the school gates for the last 13 years, I can find a wee bit of myself and people I know in each of the characters.

I'm no fan of trying to make mum pals - in fact, I flat out suck at it.  

It's caused me a lot of heartache and confusion over the years.

I've come to the conclusion that actually, I am far too eclectic, too full of dark humour and just not 'proper' enough to make it with the 'in' crowd and actually, I have totally given up.

On a Motherland scale of Amanda to Liz, I am 100% a Liz.

Diane Morgan as Liz in the brilliant Motherland

From the moment she chopped her own finger off slicing frozen cheese for Julia and calmly headed off to A&E after doing her own first-aid, to the drunken promises she made on behalf of Julia and Kevin for the school fundraiser, I can totally relate to being the outsider who just does herself and fuck whatever anyone else thinks. I appreciate her down-to-earth take on things, her patience, her wit and I absolutely see her dogged determination to survive and make sense of whatever shitty hand she is dealt.

As a mum at a small-ish village school, in a relatively higher class area, I stick out like a sore thumb.

I'm not well-off enough to carry off anything classy.  Messy bun? Tick.  Running late? Epically. Tick!

I'm the one whose son wears princess dresses because he can if he wants, who champions unbranded school uniforms to keep the cost of the school day down for everyone, and asks awkward questions around fundraising.  I'm a rule-bender, a risk-taker and someone who speaks their mind.

 My kids are not in the expensive swim team, football club, art club or drama group, nor are they sporty.  I let them spend a lot of time on their computers.  We have very loose bedtimes at weekends.  

I can't afford to send them to the various 'lovely' activities the other kids enjoy, nor do we massively value academia. We would rather the kids were safe, happy and loving what they do, because we both tried hugely and did all the right things, kicked our own arses to get the grades and have struggled ever since!

As two people who have been very roughly shafted by the world in the pursuit of such stuff, we are more than a little disillusioned and probably a wee bit traumatised, and so we are focused on raising our kids to be decent people with kind, compassionate, inclusive values, where you aren't afraid to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty and where you open your mind to as much as possible - we can't begin to imagine a world for our kids where fitting in with an ever-decreasing elite of paid-for opportunity and outstanding grades at all costs would be a 'good' thing to do.

Me and my husband both work in the third sector - not only do we both know what it is like to live in relative poverty and deal with the many social, physical and emotional challenges it brings, we also spend our days scooping up other people who are dealing with the effects; the time for giving a shit about manicured lawns or whether our cars are immaculate is not really now for us.  

Is everyone fed, clothed, washed, happy, achieving, nurtured and well-humoured though? Yes! Isn't that what counts? 

Does our lack of care around some of the finer details come off as bad parenting?  

Probably.

I am tired.  My life has been a fucking struggle.  Girl, I am surviving and I will absolutely take that.

Motherland tackles this to some degree. It encompasses the spectrum of mother characters quite aptly; the single mum, the stay at home mum, the stay at home dad, the seemingly-has-it-all mum, the queen bee mum and her side-kick and the mum who has run out of shits and just wants to get through it.

Joining the school PTA has become a recent favourite weird pastime for me - I'm not sure the Head Teacher knows what to do with me.  

Here's the woman he has pegged as an incompetent mother (veiled very thinly) showing up, giving a shit, interacting, giving opinions that he finds he 9/10 actually agrees with and it's always entertaining on the Zoom call (with the brilliant rural wifi 1.5 second lag) inadvertently showcasing my dark humour, which the other mums really don't seem to understand. 

The dark humour usually comes out around some of the more mundane topics, like dog shit or parking and I can't help myself.  It's been nearly two hours talking about dog poop and I start making quips, and it's like unleashing the beast.  And guess what?  Apparently, giggling about dog poop on kids shoes isn't that funny, Genna. 

"Why am I such an outcast?" I'll sob to Dave (usually the day before my period when the world is a dark black spot of shit and everything is pressing harder on me than usual).

I tried to make mum friends - I really did.  I suck at it.  I'm in the wrong area; outcast, out-resourced and outnumbered.  I'm in a weird middle ground and I guess I have resigned myself to a lifetime of lonlieness.

Fuck it.

For now I'm taking my solace in Motherland and enjoying their take on Mum life.

If you are like me and feel totally left out of the mum circle with no hope of getting in any time soon, give it a watch.

It's a source of real comfort in an ever-weird and confusing world of parent politics.

Bairns and Blethers - A Good Old Catch Up

 Well, world, what in the heck happened?

One day I catch myself saying to Dave: "I wish something would happen, you know?  Something that just makes the world stop for a bit.  I'm so done with the relentless-ness of it all and just want it all to stop"

And the next - it did.

Sometimes I do feel like I am connected to this wee old planet in a bit of a spiritual way (ooky spooky!) and well, most times I do really just feel like a bit of a spaceman floating around waiting for something to happen or tell me where to go.

And sometimes I feel absolutely driven, like I am desperately feeling like I need to fulfil my purpose RIGHT NOW, which is kind of how I am feeling just now.

Covid has been a bit of a crazy ride, and as we come up to the wierdest anniversary of anything ever - like, ever - I feel a bit like I have ridden the greatest rollercoaster in my whole life and now I have to get off and go home back to the boring mundane.

I'm not ashamed to say, I have quite enjoyed being locked down.  I mean, okay, it has been a bit shit for the kids; my oldest basically got chucked out of p7 and into high school with the shittest goodbye ever, my youngest has had to start school in pandemic conditions and I think I might have gained about 2 stone because I have comfort eaten the fuck out of it, but otherwise, it's been fine, really.

Middle boy has been better than he has ever been and has come on so much- any of the regular societal pressures he has felt over the years has completely gone and school is now much more manageable for him.  The weight of all of that being taken off has changed our family considerably.  The crazy merry-go-round has actually stopped, which is nothing short of miraculous.  It may even have given us some actual formative real chance of getting somewhere with this.

Myself and Dave are keyworkers in the third sector and our jobs have catapulted our careers further in a shorter space of time than any of us could have imagined.  It is absolutely mind-blowing compared to last year where we are now, and for that I am eternally grateful.  It feels like a mad dream.

By all accounts, I certainly don't ever want to downplay anything that has happened in the world or the horrible, awful, terrible hardships anyone has been through in the last year; not at all.  Working in the third sector (and in things like emergency provision for basic needs like food and clothing), I know life is so tough on so many and in so many horrible conditions all over the world.

But personally, for me, for us, for our wee family, in this wee dilapidated cottage which is going to suck our souls dry (or leave us dying of frostbite or in an electrical fire) for once...for once....FOR ONCE....the world isn't shitting right on our laps for a change.

And it feels good.

It feels good to be able to put food on the table without panicking.  We are travelling a lot less, so less wear on the cars, which meant come MOT time, we weren't completely destroyed.  We are paying a lot less for fuel, so aren't constantly running on empty.  We have been able to address some real pressing issues in the house like basic furniture needs, like buying the kids a bed and bedding.  We have been able to buy gifts at Christmas without sheer panic.

I keep waiting for the bolt to shut across the door, when whatever cosmic being has let us free from our usual crock of shit life realises that we got out, but it hasn't happened just yet.

While the rest of the world is desperate to get back to 'normal', here's me in a corner saying, "please, not quite yet.  There's still so much to do".

I mean, I've written it down now, so I have totally jinxed it, but it has been so nice to just have this break.

And if all I end up with is this little memoir to look back on, well, I'm glad it happened and now I know it can happen - so watch out world, here I come.

The Incredibles 2 - a trip with my boys

Now that the older boys are a bit less feral, it's actually pretty enjoyable to be out and about with them.
All the little things that used to completely stress me out when we went places (escalators, negotiating car parks, toileting) are all a thing of the past, and I have to say - it feels so chilled to go out with my older sons now.

I feel like I have earned this.

I've been working pretty hard over the summer - which has given me massive mum-guilt.  The kids really haven't had the best of me this summer at all - even on holiday I still had to deal with work - so when we catch a few hours together, I try my best to make them as fun as possible.

Despite having our alone time yesterday and having filled my work hours for the week, I still had work to do and things to deal with, and the boys were yet again dragged along for the ride.  It was a hot hot hot day, and there was **SHOCK** NO INTERNET!!
(Which was the issue I had to deal with at work)
So while I spent a few hours dealing with being on hold to BT and sorting out various other issues which I always liken to fighting zombies...there's lots of them, they are relentless, and the don't care if you are ready for them or not; the boys were not up for quietly sitting.  There was no internet, therefore there was NOTHING TO DO.

They were annoying.  I wasn't listening.  We stayed way longer than I had told them we would.  I had been actively ignoring them for 6 and a half hours to prioritise work.

It didn't end well.  There might have been shouting from all of us.

I stopped.



We went out for lunch.  We got pizza together and I began to relax.  The pizza place is beside the cinema, and one thing led to another and....

Last night we went to the cinema together for the first time since I started my new job, which is MONTHS ago now.

We went to see The Incredibles 2.

The irony is not lost on me that this brilliantly done and seamless sequel to The Incredibles features Elastigirl, or 'Mrs Incredible' taking the lead as the breadwinner for her family.  She has to give up family life to prove herself and become the poster-girl for superheroes.

Ethan exclaimed at the amount of adults in the audience: 'Where are the kids?  Why are they coming on their own?!'

He was right; there were a lot of couples in the audience - notably women.  With plenty of references to parenting, life as a working mum, life as a stay at home parent, the dynamic between couples when one is out at work while the other has to take a back seat, I think this film has really struck a chord with many people in similar situations.

Life as a working parent is difficult - and especially for women, who often face the dichotomy between being the home-maker and nurturer, while trying to be successful in the workplace.
It was very refreshing too to see Mr. Incredible struggle, but also generally succeed in giving up his career to support his wife.  Pixar really didn't adhere to the stereotype of the 'useless Dad' which was lovely to see. Instead, we see Robert Parr struggle and then work out what to do - finding his own feet and his own way of doing things for the kids.

  It opened the door to speaking to the boys in the car on the way home about all the issues raised, which made for some interesting discussions.  It was kind of amazing to me, that despite feeling guilty and worried about having ruined the boys' summer, it seems they are very understanding of why mum has to work so hard.  Tom even surprised me by telling me that he was always amazed by how much I managed to do and how hard it is for me at home and at work.

I guess it was nice to realise that even though a lot of the time I do feel invisible, I'm not.  The boys still see me and they do see what I do - even if sometimes it feels as though they are completely oblivious.

It was also nice to have that time to realise that I need to work less and do more with my funny gorgeous, intelligent, and observant boys.

I am not Mrs. Incredible and yes, I do feel like Elastigirl - constantly over-stretching myself.

The small film at the start of the movie was even more poignant and actually had me in tears.

Bao

Bao is a mini Pixar film and focuses on mother-son relationships.  Sitting with my two boys watching a story about a mother who has grown older, raised her son and 'lost' him to teenage life, followed by the love of his life was emotional and difficult.  I'll not go into what actually happened so I don't spoil it for anyone, but if you are a mama raising sons, get out the tissues.

Another conversation-starter with my boys about how life is for women, and especially those with sons.  Their reactions?

Were beautiful.

They get it.

They understand.  Which makes me feel like I am doing something right.

This was an important and much-needed check-in.  And I will be doing it more often.  Too much work, not enough boy-time.

The Blethering Boys Xmas Gift Guide 2016

It's that time again!

Geez, it come around far too quickly.

My boys are at a rather tricky age this year, and I have to admit, I'm finding it difficult.

We are past the age of being able to delight with any old thing and very much into the age of more thoughtful and defining gifts, which I have to say I prefer.

I am very pleased to report that we must be having some kind of good affect on our kids through the way we conduct ourselves: already the boys have said that they don't care what they get, as long as everyone is happy and also that alongside their advent calendars this year, they would like to make a kindness jar, to enable them to do one kind deed each day.

These little glimmers of kindness and awesomeness are what make me so very proud and happy as a parent; we must be doing something right!

Like any parent, I still really want them to have what their hearts desire and this year, they have asked for tablets, so... :) We'll see what Santa brings!

The boys are really into shopping and have been browsing for gifts for others too.

We hope you enjoy our Blethering Boys 2016 Christmas Gift Guide!

STOCKING FILLERS

You can't go wrong with a lovely set of colouring pencils, and these ones from the Bic Kids range (rrp, £2.99) make a perfect wee stocking filler for some holiday colouring.

Sweets are always a welcome additon too, with some tasty treats in these perfect stocking-sized boxes from Swizzels available in Refreshers Softies, Wham bars and Fruit Salad Softies too! Yum!

And why not investigate uber-awesome and multi-coloured Smiggle for some gorgeous pens, paper, bags, books and all-round squee! Perfect to brighten up a stocking!

GIFTS FOR THE LADS

Stuck for a last-minute idea for the man in your life?  

The Braun Beard Trimmer (rrp £39.99) is an ideal gift to help your man stay groomed to perfection.

A super-cool tee from RedBubble should do the trick - they have an amazing range of cool designs, niche interests and geeky goodies galore!

Or for the essential piece of man-kit, why not go for the Leatherman Tread (rrp, £139-£189.99) - the ultimate man-bracelet which doubles (triples and quadruples!) into a a multi-tool!

GIFTS FOR THE BAIRNS

Disney's The Lion Guard playset (rrp £34.99) is a great gift for a wee one who loes a bit of roar-some fun!

The Leapfrop Leaping Letters (rrp£16.99) poses a great wee challenge for that niece or nephew who is just starting to learn their letters.

Of course BB8 bobblehead(rrp, £9.99) is bound to be a hit with Star Wars fans, old and young!

And the Bic Colouring Activity Set (rrp, £22) with 80 pieces, featuring Alvin and the Chipmunks is a lovely gift for that budding artist - and great value too!

GIFTS FOR YER MAW

Yarden Dead Sea Salts with Frankincense and rose petals (rrp, £8.99) are deliciously fragrant and make a wonderful gift to give yer maw a bit of well-earned relaxing time

Ladybird Books just keep coming up with some hilarious classics and 'The Mum' (rrp. £3.99) is one of my favourites!

Ness do some really gorgeous bags and purses and this really beautiful bag, Milly (rrp, £39.99), has a gorgeously patterned silk lining too! Cute!

The thing I got excited by the most about the VARV table lamp by IKEA (rrp £50) is the fact that it's wireless!  Waaaah! I hate wires.  This one charges via usb and then stays bright for ages, making it cool and minimalistic too. Perfect!

Of course, this year I am all about the giving and Xmas, for me, wouldn't be complete without some form of charitabel giving.  This year I am practicing what I preach and gifting via www.goodgifts.com

Be sure to have a look at some of the lovely ways you can pass on the love to someone else who needs it :)

Thanks for reading the Blethering Boys 2016 gift guide. 

The boys and I would like to wish you all the very best of the season to you and yours.

Saying Goodbye To The Baby Clothes

Clearing out my baby clothes was tough.

All those tiny little cute outfits, worn once, twice, three times.

Some have been on all three of my boys.

These are the clothes I carefully poppered over tiny little toes, carefully zipped up tiny little bodies, cuddled close after feeds and pegged up on the washing line, unaware or not of their last service towards our cause.

The ones which hold the most emotional resonance, pushed back into a duffell bag to be stored now - but for what purpose?

These are my memories.

I most likely won't be using them again now.

They're not waiting 'just in case'. Are they?

I had to tell myself as I went through them; 'there's no point in them sitting redundant'.

No point in them taking up space or gathering dust.

Someone else should be using these gorgeous little things again.

These gifts so thoughtfully given, the things carefully chosen by me, by friends, by all the visitors.

These are the things I squealed over, carefully opened, were so surprised by, they made new-mummy-me cry over the kindness, the generosity.

It's time to say a fond farewell to tiny baby years, tiny baby things, tiny baby bits and pieces and look forwards now.

My baby is a year old in less than a month.

He's thrown himself into life so fully.  He's grown so much.  Even moved up a centile as if to make fun of my constant chiding: "stop growing, baby!"

He giggles when  say this  Stands up all by himself in the middle of the room all by himself, grins, shows me his little teeth, points, waves, says words, all of the things I don't want him to be doing yet.

But he does.

He's not a tiny little baby any more.

It goes too fast.

Now it's my turn to surprise someone.  To show the kindness. To repay the generosity and to make another new mummy wonder at the kindness of strangers.

So I bundle up the bits. I tell myself it's the last time, but not too harshly. I make sure that I also allow myself to realise it could all happen again maybe one day.

Though I know it won't.

 They're just clothes.

Just clothes.

I can always get more clothes.

If I ever need to...

The End of Breastfeeding: Need, Betrayal, Freedom

Last week, Owen, my third and almost certainly last ever baby, lay down with me and had his last ever breastfeed.

After-feed coma

I was so very conscious that this would be the last one - though it was with a glimmer of hope that it might not be, that he had somehow decided to carry on.

Very poorly baby :(

He's been quite poorly for the last three weeks; sniffly, sore throat and very wheezy.  It turns out, after a visit to the doctors eventually (poor, neglected third child!) that he had a touch of bronchiolitis, which he has since happily fended off.

He had been refusing the breast rapidly during those few weeks, turning his head, suckling for only a small amount of time, before withdrawing with painful screams and tensing up his body.

Frustratingly, for both of us, what used to comfort him beyond anything else couldn't comfort him this time, and I have noticed a change in him these last few weeks for sure; he's become a lot more indepepndent, a lot more into crawling on the floor, wanting to spend a lot less time in his Jumperoo and getting frustrated in his walker.  He's practicing pushing himself up and trying to stand, however alarming that is for me to watch!

Suddenly, my wee baby is no longer a wee baby, but a bigger baby who is becoming more of a personality.

Hmm, what's this ??

What are they talking about?

I'd just texted my best friend, who also has a baby of around the same age who is also breastfeeding.  We had been talking about it the last time we'd met up; she'd recently started to wean her little girl and asked me if Owen had started to drop feeds.

I knew he had (he'd started weaning ages ago), but I didn't realise quite how much until I spoke about it.

"It's funny", she'd said, as she fed her baby, " you never know when it's going to be the last feed".

So I messaged her, a week on from this conversation, telling her, the only other person who I knew would understand how I felt at this moment and told her that I was almost certain that it was all over.

It felt really weird.

It still does.

When I bought my first box of formula after 8 and a half months of good, solid work, it felt so odd - like a betrayal, like a freedom and like a need.

He needed the fluid - he had been refusing from me and refusing water, something had to give.  I had to satisfy that need to feed my ill baby.  He was becoming dehydrated and I couldn't pump off enough milk.

It felt like a betrayal too though - that was a lot of very hard work.  It was a lot of pride, a lot of love and a lot of tears which had gone into our breastfeeding relationship.  I looked at the ingredients on the boxes a million times.  I went back and forth to that shelf like a madwoman.  It's so silly - my other two boys had formula from a much younger age and I never even blinked, but for some reason I found such a harmonious and rewarding breastfeeding relationship hard to let go of!

I really felt a lot of freedom.  I also bought my first underwired bra for the first time in over a year.  When you have boobs as big as mine - that's a relief! It's amazing how much an underwire can boost your cleavage and make you feel so awesome again! I also felt a kind of release.
I had been this tiny little person's sole source of comfort and nourishment for 8 long months.  His go-to for every upset.  I was on hand 24/7, night and day for food and drink.  Not all babies are as velcro-like as mine, but Owen truly felt like I was the only one who could 'save' him and he was struggling with letting go of me.  Now I can leave him with daddy, and already their bond has grown more.  Already he seeks him out as well as me, which is lovely and, admittedly, a bit of a relief.  I have to go back to work soon and he has to be able to find comfort in others.

The most shocking thing for me is, I keep trying him with the breast with an off-handed hope that he will go back, but he is not even a bit bothered.  He'll nuzzle for a bit, then pull away.  If a bottle is int he room, he'll seek it out and drink it like he's always done it.  I guess I'm glad he feels so confident, givent hat at one point he completely refused a bottle!

Just a few short months ago I was set to do this for as long as he needed it, and I suppose he has decided that was as long as he needed it.

He has most definitely self-weaned, there's no doubt about it.

Am I sad about it?

Yes.  Yes, yes, yes.  I can't begin to describe how sad I am that it's over so quickly. It was marvellous to think of my wee broken battered body as this strong provider of food for this growing living thing.  It was amazing to be the sole source of comfort, to know that I could cure any ill with my boobs!  It really was magic.  Pure magic.

I'm so proud and privileged to have experienced it.

I was so worried this would be the end of something though - and it is the end, no doubt, of a special time.  But it is a small time.  And it is a memorable time.  And it was a good time.
And something which being a mother of two other children has taught me is, that it is part of a much, much bigger picture and there are so many more memorable, good times to come.

Paper Clouds Apparel

Have you heard about the amazing work that Paper Clouds Apparel do in America?

It's such an amazing idea that I need to share with you all.

Not only do they sell some pretty cool tee shirts BUT they employ artists with special needs to create the art that goes on them.  Check it out HERE


Here's a little bit about the work that Paper Clouds do:


OUR PURPOSE: Paper Clouds Apparel was formed to showcase the creative minds and artistic abilities of individuals with special needs while raising funds to provide financial support for special needs schools and organizations. We achieve this goal by selling t-shirts, hats and totes featuring artwork designed by individuals with special needs. Paper Clouds Apparel also hires individuals with special needs to package all of our sensory-friendly clothing. Fifty percent of the net proceeds from the sale of all merchandise is given to the cause we are promoting in each campaign.

Paper Clouds Apparel also use the creation of said designs to employ these very creative folk and give them some kind of revenue, which they may otherwise struggle to earn due to their particular limitations, whether that is Apraxia, learning difficulties or anything else which they struggle with.

I don't know if any of you follow The Crumb Diaries, but if not, you should!  You will be blown away by Logan and his whole family's general awesomeness.

Logan is a remarkably funny and lovely young man who has Apraxia and some other un-diagnosable learning difficulties.  I've been following his journey for a couple of years now and there's never been a day where his mom, Al hasn't made me giggle through her warm, funny and sincere observations of life with Logan, who is your typical teenage boy.  She is a very smart and savvy lady, who is well aware of the difficulties Logan faces not only in his day to day life, but those that challenge him in the future also.

She has documented her life with Logan so honestly - and we have followed them through everything: her hopes, fears and most recently, Logan's graduation, and Prom, where he went on a date (swit swoo!) and donned his cap with the rest of his class, who gave him a standing ovation!

I'm sure everyone who reads her posts on Facebook cheers along with her - 'Challenged, NOT limited!'  Follow her on Facebook HERE

Everyone should have an Al in their corner!

And I am sure, as every Mum knows, a mum needs folk in her corner too - and Paper Clouds are doing just that for Logan.

They are giving him part ownership in the company where he will carry on designing tee shirts for them!  Amazing!  How awesome for Logan, having just been offered a job after graduating high school. A job which challenges him and pays him money!  And that he has a say in!  And they are offering double ownership if we can get their Facebook likes to 50000, so get Liking Here!


What an amazing initiative.  It would be amazing to see something similar in the UK which gives people with special needs the ability to work like this.

5 Ways To Get Your Kids Talking: Interrogation Style

This is Thomas.  Thomas is 5.  Thomas is a well-practiced keeper of information.

Thomas never divulges any intelligence in the first instance.  This kid has supposedly been trained by top secret-keeping agents in the art of keeping any knowledge tight to his chest.

This works well instances such as birthday times and other such secret-keeping moments.  'Don't tell Dad I deleted his game, o.k?  We'll just say it was an accident.' and 'Don't tell Ethan about the felt-tipped pens - they are just for you and me' are potentially life-saving instances of secret-keeping goodness.  He won't tell you what your birthday present is, even if you bribe him with chocolate.

And I've tried.

  

Hard.

That's pretty impressive.

But, every damn day when I pick him up from school, I ask the same two questions.

1. Did you have a nice day at school today?
2. What did you do at school today? 

Now, invariably, the answer to question one is always a short, sharp, 'yes', followed by a mention of any stickers he got that day and the reason for said sticker.

Question two is my bastard nemesis.

The answer is always a very casual, very throwaway,

 'Can't remember'

It drives me crazy!

I have met the challenge head-on and come up with 5 ways of interrogating (without torture).  I'm not saying they work, but I'm developing new strategies all the time.  I have to - he's getting wise to my moves.  I hope they work for you.  I'm screwed when he hits them teenage years!

1. Bribery and Corruption

This very much depends on how nice you are feeling and how much you want to know.  Bribery ranges from 'tell me about your day over a hot chocolate at the cafe', to 'you only get to play your computer if you tell me what you did'.  Try not to turn it into a hellish power-struggle.  There's a fine line between looking for information and being a complete bastard to your child.  

Start with small plunder; football cards, a trip to the park, a chocolate bar.  Keep the larger items for times of real need.  Don't use this tactic all the time, or in Pavlovian-style, you'll have chocolate/treat in hand every time you need to know how he did on his spelling test. 

2. The Walk-Through

A slightly gentler, more friendly kind of  interrogation.  This is one to break out when you have slightly more time to wear down strong defences.

Start with THE DREADED QUESTION, wait for the DREADED ANSWER and work on it from there.  

I begin from the point I left him at.

'Right, so you went into line and then I saw you go in.  You waved at me, and then...'

*wait for answer*

'I dunno'

'O.K, so you walk into school, you put your coat on your peg and theeeeennn...?'

'Er, and then Miss Clark asks me to sit down'

'Riiiiight. And then you...?'

'I dunno'

'And then does she take the register?'

'What's a registrerer?'

'Never mind.  So you went in line, you walk into school, I waved to you, you hung up your coat and thennn...?'

'I put my bag in at my desk first, I didn't hang up my coat.  I had to get my water out of my bag.'

'And theeeen?'

'I dunno'

'So you went into line, you waved at me, you put your bag at your desk...'

You can see how this goes on.  I'm not going to lie, it's a long, painful, drawn out process, but if you carry on you get such nuggets of information like actual classroom activity, and  what he ate for lunch.

3. Sharing Information

Sometimes I go for the whole positivity approach.  I'll go in like the good cop I am and totally side-swipe him with a whole 'Guess what I did today?'

And he's nothing if not nosy so he'll say 'what?', more likely in anticipation that I've gone out and got him The Lego Movie Game for PS3 on a whim or bought him something crazy, like a quad bike or something totally ridiculous, because he's 5, and 5 year olds have amazing over-active imaginations and like to dream big (amen to that).

And then I'll just wade in with whatever hellish boring stuff I've done today, and make it sound ridiculously exciting and like I've had the best day ever (even though, in the main, I have done washing, cleaning and general fannying around on the internet) in an effort to get him to come back at me in the same manner.

Beware; this tactic is hit or miss.

Either he'll come back with 'whoah!  That's cool mum, I did this *list of stuff I've never even heard him mention before ever, let alone tell me about in his after-school speech*

Or

'That's nice.  Then what did you do?'

To which I reply, 'I dunno'.

4. Competition Making

I'm not gonna lie, when times get tough, having 2 boys I can pit against each other is great.  Two children are better than one, because in times of great need you can use one against the other.  I don't mean in a childhood destroying way folks - you should never do that.  I mean in a harmless, competitive way. (Note, I do not do this all the time.  I know the difference between harmful and harmless!)

I pull this move out of the bag when I have to get them both somewhere, i.e the car in the morning.

'Oh!  Who's gonna be the winner?  Who can get into the car first?  Who can get their belt on first?'

And it works.  Two children, ready to go somewhere in half the time it usually takes.

'Who can get into bed first?' is genius.

My personal favourite though is 'Who can find their shoe first?'

I can never find shoes in the morning - this has saved me all kinds of bother.

In the car, after everyone is picked up and ready to go home, I do the whole 'who wants to tell me about their day?' business.

And of course, both children want to compete with each other.

Total winner.

5. Dad

When all else fails, I just bide my time.  Like the information-extracting ninja I am.

Dad just has to walk in the bloody room.

Case in point: Tonight, I have tried all of my tricks, and a grumpy, tired Thomas is not playing. Instead, I wait.  Dave comes home and it's all,

'Hey, Dad!  I played Rugby today and I really loved it!'

Straight off the bat.

Frustrating as hell.

I've been on the other side of this and I know it would be the same for Dave if it was me just coming in, so I know there's no favouritism here, but it's no less annoying or soul-destroying.

I'll get you, boy!

 

 

 

The day my sister was humped by a dog and other childhood accidents.

'Mum, can I go out to play?'
'Yes.  Take you sister with you!'

'Urrrrghhh...muuuuum!'

My poor sister.  I always complained about taking her out with me when I went out to play.

But my mum always made me.

And nine times out of ten we would head back, about an hour or so into our time out, because she'd injured herself in some ridiculous way.

I often wonder where my oldest son gets his extreme clumsiness from, but thinking back on it, I wonder no more.  Here are my favourite ridiculous accident situations involving my poor younger sister.

Awww, cute!

1. The time a wasp got in her shoe and I got into trouble

'Push me higher!  Higher!'

J was about 5 or 6 years old, and I was around 9 when I took her to the wee park at the back of our house.  We were staying at our grandparent's house which was at the back of a scheme of houses in suburbia.  It was a lovely area and great for kids to play about in - totally safe.

I was pushing her on the baby swings that fateful day, when all of a sudden, she started screaming and crying out of nowhere.  Panicking, I started to try to slow the swing down, but she was making such a fuss, it was ineffective.

My friends were panicking too, and shouting at me to let her off.  When I eventually got the swing stopped, I lifted her out.

'What's wrong?  What happened?  Why are you...'

But before I could get an answer out of her, she took off!  Shocked, I just kind of stood and watched her.  And panicked - my sister and I often had disagreements which usually ended up in us physically fighting, and if mum saw her crying like that she'd think I'd hit her or something. I was scared I was going to get into trouble.  I had to get to her before mum did.

She was never that fast, so I managed to catch up with her quite quickly - just as she rounded the corner into my grandparent's back garden, right into a huge bush full of brambles and thorns.

She sat in the bush now, crumpled and crying - a right sorry state.

My mum had heard her screams as J ran up the path, before she hit the thorns and now stood, glowering down at us, before lifting my now bereft sister out of the bush.

'What did you do to her?'

'I, I , I...' I had no words.  I was clueless as to what had actually happened.

I started to get into trouble for chasing my sister - for making her fall into the bush.

Astounded, I couldn't begin to explain what had just happened - I just stood there, watching my sister as she sat on the floor and screamed and pointed at her shoe.

My mum took us both into the house, chastising me for not looking after my sister properly, my sister roaring and limping now; had she hurt herself when she'd fallen?  Taking her shoe off, my mum gave a gasp.

Emtying it out onto the worktop, we 'ewww'd' at the remains of a very sticky, very squashed wasp.

The wasp had flown into her shoe and stung her while she was on the swing.

How does that happen to anyone?

2. The day she was humped by a dog while rollerskating

Ah, what a glorious day that was.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing and it was a very quiet Sunday morning when I decided to go out on my shiny new roller-skates.  I had been waiting since Christmas to get a good day for this, and today was the day.

Then came the inevitable.

'Take your sister with you!'

Suddenly, the sun was dull, the birds were playing morose melodies and I was a grumpy roller-skater.  My idea of spinning off into the distance, going at phenomenal speeds and doing amazing jumps off the three stairs at the top of the hill were gubbed.

J could barely stand up in her skates, which meant we were either doomed to come home before we even left the garden path because of some crazy injury, or she'd at the very least, stop me from fulfilling my dreams of glory by making me hold her up the whole time.

Thankfully, she agreed to keep her shoes on until we got to the flat path beside the wall and changed her shoes there, while I glided gracefully ahead of her, grumbling the whole time.

As she got ready, sitting on the wall, I skated up the path a bit, angling for the three steps, when I saw the black dog who lived around the corner come ambling along.

 He was a lovely old beast, quite big and ancient, and followed around by a tiny and even more ancient woman with a gruff voice, who shouted ineffectually at him when he went to greet passers-by.  His name, oddly for a big hulking black dog, was Breeze.

She was already shouting at him, 'Breeze, Breeze', her voice like a smoker's 100-a-day when he started to make his way towards J, who was just standing up, rather wobbly, on her skates.  She wobbled over to the dog to give him a pat, and just as she did that, the dog started to sniff her excitedly and wag his tail.

She started to giggle at him - right enough, we'd never seen him so animated before.  But it seemed the woman was panicking, as she began to shuffle even faster and shout her hoarse shout even louder.

'BREEZE!  NO! BREEEEEEEZE!'

What happened next has scarred my sister for life.  The dog leaped up on his back legs and jumped on her, wagging his tail the whole time.

My sister started to shout on me, wobbling all over the place on her skates; she couldn't run away in case she fell over.  How she never did is beyond me!  She was stuck.

It was probably the funniest thing I'd ever seen - I couldn't move for laughing.  I was creased, I was paralyzed. The sight of the tiny old lady, the very happy dog and my panicking sister on skates will stay with me forever.

Needless to say, after the lady had convinced the dog to disembark, J had stopped huffing enough to change back into her shoes, and I'd managed to stop laughing, we had to go home.  Where I got into trouble for laughing instead of helping.

And that is why I am going to hell.


It was a bit like this:



But with skates.

3. The time J's bike fell apart

I've never seen this happen before, or since.  How do these things happen to my sister?

We were casually riding along on a bike ride through the park.  We had travelled far and wide without incident.  Feeling quite smug, and like maybe we had turned a corner in the whole 'taking J out with me without anything bad happening' thing, we were heading home.

On the last stretch, we had to go on the pavements to get back towards our grandparents' house.  Our three friends went first up the kerb, bump, bump, bump.

J was in front of me.

All I saw was her go 'bump' and then suddenly, without warning, crash onto the ground.  Downwards.

I braked sharply, missing her rear tyre by inches.

My friends had stopped - one dropped their bike to the ground and chased after something, running back with it in his hands.

I dropped my own bike to the ground and went to see my sister, who now, still sat on her bike, helmet on, knees scuffed on the floor, but still sitting perfectly upright, crying,  on her bike.

Which was missing a front wheel.  It had fallen off when she bumped up the kerb.

The god of bike-riding accidents had spoken.

We all stood agape. Getting that bike, the front wheel, plus all of our bikes and my upset sister back to the house was a journey in itself.

Try explaining that one to your parents.


4. The time my sister was saved by Jesus

Bad luck and just general clumsiness has followed my sister into adulthood.

I can take her out with me now, happily,  without worrying that we'll only have some epic accident and have to return home within 10 minutes, but she still has the occasional spill.  She even goes out on her own.

A few years ago though, when she was still a student, she was due to meet friends for a Halloween party in a local bar.

They'd all dressed up, and as is usual with students out on the pull, dressing up in something a bit flirty, over something scary was more popular.  Hence, J decided to go as a Police Woman.

She looked swish all done up in her uniform, and being the kind gal she was, offered to put her friend's Minnie Mouse ears in her house.  Living across the road in the city centre, this wan't a problem.  Having a drink or five before she had even left the house was.

Having successfully deposited the ears, she went to skip down the stairs merrily to rejoin her pals.  J, being J, tripped, and flew head over heels down the steep stone steps, all fifteen or so of them, down to the bottom.

Lying in a crumpled, bloodied heap and wondering what she had broken, my sister, who didn't feel much due to her previous alcohol consumption, heard a voice asking her if she was alright.

Looking up, she saw a man in white robes and long brown hair gazing down at her.

It was Jesus.  It turns out he too was heading out for the evening.

Her legs in an unholy mess, her tights ripped beyond redemption and now a wee bit sore, J was lifted up by 'Jesus' and sorted out.  He offered to take her home and make sure she was o.k.

After she declined his kind offer, she headed off in search of her disciples and more wine, only recalling the next day once she realized how sore her legs actually were, that the moral of the story is; Jesus Saves.  And he's pretty hot.


Ah, Sisters!

Looking good, ladies!