Yawn

After I had offered to look after a third child for the day today I did begin to wonder whether I have finally completely lost the plot. Let's face it there are days when I struggle to make it through to bedtime with two children to run around after, never mind adding another into the equation. And never mind the fact that I had previously only ever seen this child at the school doors, being ushered in and out of class.

As it turned out today was a lovely day. Admittedly the first half an hour or so after she arrived I was counting down the hours wondering how we would fill the day, but all three girls got on really well, and this was helped by the fact that our visitor was an absolute pleasure to have around. She was completely unphased by the fact that she was spending the day at a new house, with a strange adult, she made sure little sister was included in the games and she was polite and positive throughout the day. How lovely.

I think the extra responsibility has done me in though. I have no idea how teachers keep their eye on an entire class from 9am through to 3pm five days a week. Personally, I am even more tired than usual just from the fact of knowing there was an extra child here. In fact by teatime I was so exhausted I was rushing my two up for a bath by 5.30 just to get closer to the end of the day, rather earlier than usual. And now I think I will follow their early lead and get myself to bed too. Hopefully I can get a couple of hours in before the night-time bed-swopping begins anew...

Growing up

At the weekend we tried practicing some words the teacher had highlighted by writing the same word onto two pieces of paper and then matching the pairs up. At least that was my admittedly rather simple idea. But by the time I'd finished sorting out two year old's breakfast demands, five year old had drawn matching pictures to go with the words, coloured them in and sorted them into a much more sophisticated game of snap. These little things make me realise that my haphazard 'craft' sessions and unsophisticated painting style may not be sufficient to satisfy my children's developing standards for much longer. It also makes me realise more than ever how quickly they grow up and away from us.

This afternoon the elder child went to a friend's for tea after school. This is a fairly normal occurrence, but it wasn't until school pick-up time had been and gone that I really started to think about all this new socialising. There was my baby going off to a home that I have never set foot in, without any guidance or support (or interference) from me whatsoever. We modern-day parents are always being accused - amongst other things - of wrapping our kids up in cotton wool, but on this occasion I felt almost reckless. I had a home phone number and a first name, but other than that I only had a general sense that the mum seemed friendly and genuine. Is it ok to let your child go somewhere you have never been, and what things should make me think twice about allowing her to go to a stranger's house?

Of course she came back safe and sound - and reassuringly grumpy for the pre-teen five year old that she sometimes is. In fact during the handover I even seem to have offered to look after the friend in question while her mum is at work all day next Monday, so it's entirely possible that she's now sitting at home pondering the exact same questions as I.

I'd rather be large than smart

There is a children's television programme that my two enjoy called 'The Large Family'. It follows the fortunes of a family of elephants called, funnily enough, the Large family. There are four kids and two adults in this family, and the programme reflects the average chaotic nature of family life. I tend not to share my kids' taste in television, but occasionally I quite like to join them for this one as it offers a kind of therapy by proving that tidiness and organisation can quite happily go to pot in a home without any loss of love, kindness and warmth.

At the Large family home there is never a meal-time when no-one spills anything, never a two-way conversation in which everyone waits for the others to finish speaking before taking their turn, and things are forgotten and misplaced with the kind of regularity that I can truly identify with. ("Water bottle? Oh sorry I've forgotten it again honey... ask the teacher for a cup of water if you are thirsty.")

Next-door to the Large family live the Smart family. Life in their household is very different. The cupboards are never bare, the boy-child is always obedient, and you get the feeling they would lose their own heads before forgetting to take their water-bottles to school.

There was one episode in which a boy from the Smart family came for a sleepover at the Large house. I don't remember the full course of the programme but I do remember his shock at breakfast time when Mrs Large told him to put juice on his cereal because she'd forgotten to buy milk. Ha ha, the poor lad was distraught. I don't mean to sound cruel when I say that, but surely the children growing up amongst chaos, learning to make do and adapt are going to be better equipped for life in the real world than the poor boy who thinks you should always be able to see the pattern on a carpet and that crumb-free surfaces are the key to happiness?

Life is too short for colour-coding socks. Our children are young enough to find the world a wonderful place for such a short time and I don't believe anyone ever looked back at their childhood and thanked their lucky stars that their childhood home was clean and tidy. Keep on top of the essentials of course, but make time for enjoying the chaos too.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cbeebies/largefamily/

Missing my blog

My internet hub gave up the ghost over Christmas - which explains my recent lack of posts. I don't mind admitting that I am really missing this outlet though, it is rather cathartic to get some of the madness of the day down on paper, and also forces me to think back over the more positive and amusing things that happen in the course of an average day.

Hopefully I will be back online soon but for now I will just add this brief post. Living with two small children I do sometimes wonder whether my voice is ever really heard. The other day at bedtime I had been repeatedly asking five year old to put her pyjamas on for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she replied in an exaggerated exasperated tone: "Oh, go on then, if you exist."

Well I do wonder sometimes.

Bah humbug?

I have to admit that I have been struggling to feel the spirit of Christmas this time around, instead feeling mainly a sense of panic at a seemingly insurmountable list of 'things that must be done'.

Occasionally though my gloom melts a little. Yesterday I went to pick up five year old from school after watching her school nativity in the morning. She was beaming from ear to ear when I told her how much her little sister and I had enjoyed watching her sing. I had managed to fight back the tears as I walked into the school hall for the event, but only just.

Anyway, whilst waiting in the queue outside her classroom at end of school time I noticed a Christmas 'wish tree' her class had made. Each child had written something on a piece of paper to hang on a branch. Amongst the wishes for parties, pancakes and other such things, I spotted my little girl's name. Her piece of paper had a picture of a little heart, neatly coloured in, with the words: "A heart for mummy."

Tears? Oh yes. I apologise in advance if this sounds corny, but I am truly grateful that this Christmas the words of wise five year old are helping to teach me a new meaning and depth to the word 'love'.

The intangible difference between Pooh and poo.

We had a great afternoon post-school today. I felt I had been rather grouchy on the morning school run and the sun was shining so I decided a walk up to the library to exchange books would be good for all three of us. We even stopped at a cafe on the way for banana milkshake and chocolate flapjack, a Tuesday treat to keep us going up the hill.

Of course seconds after leaving the cafe both kids were whinging and I was regretting having played the trump treat cards so early - 'behave because I have just given you chocolate flapjack' just does not work in the same way as 'if you behave you can have...' (Obviously I would never stoop to such ridiculous methods of bribery. Ahem)

The walk home was lovely though, we now always include 'the fruit man' on our walks home from Town Street as the girls pick what fruit they want (their choices are not always very climate friendly I am sorry to say - although five year old went for apples today) and the owner of the greengrocer's shop always gives each girl a handful of raisins and a beaming smile. I did end up pushing both of them sitting on each others knees in our rickety pushchair for the last part of the journey, but it is downhill by then so my paltry muscles can cope just about.

At bedtime the two year old chose a Winnie the Pooh book that I have previously only read to my elder child. She has heard of Pooh bear before but clearly the idea is still quite amusing to her. I begin reading...

Two year old: "Where's the poo mummy?"
Me: "There, that's Winnie the Pooh, the bear."
Two year old: "But where's the poo though?"
Me: "It's the name of a bear, Winnie the Pooh, not an actual poo."
Five year old helps out: "You've got a Winnie in your nursery haven't you?"
Two year old sniggers: "Willy." Giggles on both sides.
Five year old, through giggles: "Winnie, not willy."
Two year old: "Maxi's got a willy."
By this point I am reluctantly giving into the giggles.
Me: "Shall I carry on reading or shall we put the light out girls?"
Both girls: "Read mummy!"
Pause.
Two year old: "But where's the poo?"
Sigh.

The guilt

Nobody ever really tells you about the guilt associated with becoming a parent. And even if they do mention it your pre-parent self no doubt shrugged it off. Oh, that'll never happen to me.
It has happened to every parent that I know though, to differing degrees of course.
Going back to work? Guilt.
Children having trouble settling into nursery? Guilt.
Putting a dvd on at the weekend while you get a few things done? Guilt.
Feeding your children rubbish because you haven't had time to cook and you know they won't eat your food anyway? Guilt.
Well when you have made a conscious decision to divide their family into two that guilt is more than doubled.

After school today I had to go pick up the car from the garage, so I left youngest at home and asked eldest if she wanted to come with me or go back home and play with Nana. "I want to come with you Mummy," was the reply. I explained that it might take a while to pick up the car but she was keen so we set off on the bus to the garage. Once there I discovered the car was not ready (surprise) and we could have up to an hour to wait. Again I asked five year old if she wanted me to take her home, but she wanted to stay. Obviously the word 'hour' has no real meaning to her, but still it made me feel that she was really so desperate for some time alone with me that she was prepared to sit in a boring car showroom just to get that. Of course maybe to a five year old a car showroom has more appeal than it does to a 30-something mother-of-two who has neither the means nor desire to buy a new car, I mean they had a box of crayons after all. But it did give me a pang of that by now familiar guilt. Living on my own with two young children, it is rare that my eldest gets time with me alone, and I was impressed with her response to this particular chance. We drew and coloured together, and chatted about our day. In hindsight it was more than just an hour in a car showroom.

Now I just had a text message saying the girls can go to the other half of their family for two nights this coming weekend, rather than the usual one night. This means I can do more of the chores that build up during the week, and also go out and see friends two whole nights in a row. What do I feel? Guilt, of course.