What a week this has been! My lovely Max turned 8 and now "feels so much taller". He has loved his birthday - particularly the food element. It is not difficult to work out that Max's love language is good food, and lots of it (even if he can't manage to actually eat it all). Thankfully he is, so far, still hugely appreciative of my cooking and doesn't even mind when my cakes don't rise properly or my lasagne plops onto his plate like a cow pat. He just loves food, and I love loving him with food.
The day before his birthday was a tricky one though. The school tradition is for the birthday child to bring in sweets to share with their class, so without thinking of the disastrous possibilities, I took Jonah to the supermarket to choose some sweets for Max and his class. Why on earth I did not realise how much of a stupid idea this was, I will never know. In naive optimism, I genuinely thought that Jonah would ENJOY buying sweets for Max to take into school. How very, very wrong I was. Standing in the sweetie aisle, Jonah picked up a handful of sweets.
Jonah: "I'll have these ones."
Me (realising my mistake, but still hoping it could be rectified): "Oh no! We're not buying for you today, these are for Max to give to his friends."
Jonah: (mouth wobbling, eyes filling with tears) "But I want these."
Me: (breathing deeply, realising this is not going to be fixed easily): "No. I am not buying for you today. Come with me please."
Jonah (dropping to the floor with a dramatic wail): "BUT I WANT SOME!"
Me: (preparing for battle): "Stand up, take my hand and come with me."
Jonah: "NOOOOOO!"
Much to the horror of the old ladies in the vicinity (I'm sure their children never did that!) I held onto his hand and, with the determination of an athlete in their final sprint, dragged him around the supermarket on his knees while I finished my shopping. I gave him plenty of opportunities to stand and walk. He refused every time. I heard tuts (can't be sure whether they were for me or for him) and Jonah even had a lecture from an old man about Father Christmas not coming if he wasn't a good boy. Nothing worked. I was the mother with the screaming child. Oh how our children humble us.
Max was pleased with the sweets though, so perhaps it was worth it.
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Friday, 27 April 2012
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Invasion of the Hormones
Oh my. I thought two year old tantrums were hard. Imagine the full force of the two year old (and my two year olds were particularly forceful) combined with the bodily strength of a ten year old. And then you might understand my predicament. What makes it even more daunting is that these Hormones are only just beginning their locust-like ravages of my little boy's body. (Ok, so he's not actually 'little' anymore. In fact, he is almost as tall as me. But he is still my little boy.) We may well have another 8 years of this. And it may well become alot worse. Oh.
The Hormones, it seems, have well and truly arrived. Complete with mood swings, door slamming, huffing and sighing, comments about how uncool and embarrassing I am and aggression that has reached a new level. And he's only ten years old!
I do feel for Toby. Every stage he reaches that is new to him, is also new to us. Every boundary that he questions, we also have to question. Every tentative step he takes forward into the world on his own, is taken with my breath being held until his foot has landed safely back on the ground. Every change shocks me, as though the ground underneath is trembling and moving. Why does he cover up with a towel now? I'm his mummy, I changed his nappies! Why does he close his bedroom door and expect me to knock if I want to go in? Why does he suddenly seem to be hungry all the time? Why does he laugh at the scenes in films that I didn't think he understood? Why, suddenly, is a particular t shirt not acceptable to wear? Why does he want time alone, when for the last ten years I have been trying to teach him, unsuccessfuly, that it's ok to be on his own? All these things that I took for granted, are beginning to change.
And so, yet again the ground shifts and with it the boundaries move further. We need to recognise our boy is beginning, only beginning, his long journey from little boy to manhood. Is there any way I can prepare myself for the onslaught of the Hormones? I don't think so. Just as you can't prepare yourself for the sleep deprivation and the utterly exhilarating exhaustion of a newborn baby, I don't think I can prepare myself for the thrilling ride of the teenage years ahead. But they will come. And they will transform my boy into a man. Oh my.
The Hormones, it seems, have well and truly arrived. Complete with mood swings, door slamming, huffing and sighing, comments about how uncool and embarrassing I am and aggression that has reached a new level. And he's only ten years old!
I do feel for Toby. Every stage he reaches that is new to him, is also new to us. Every boundary that he questions, we also have to question. Every tentative step he takes forward into the world on his own, is taken with my breath being held until his foot has landed safely back on the ground. Every change shocks me, as though the ground underneath is trembling and moving. Why does he cover up with a towel now? I'm his mummy, I changed his nappies! Why does he close his bedroom door and expect me to knock if I want to go in? Why does he suddenly seem to be hungry all the time? Why does he laugh at the scenes in films that I didn't think he understood? Why, suddenly, is a particular t shirt not acceptable to wear? Why does he want time alone, when for the last ten years I have been trying to teach him, unsuccessfuly, that it's ok to be on his own? All these things that I took for granted, are beginning to change.
And so, yet again the ground shifts and with it the boundaries move further. We need to recognise our boy is beginning, only beginning, his long journey from little boy to manhood. Is there any way I can prepare myself for the onslaught of the Hormones? I don't think so. Just as you can't prepare yourself for the sleep deprivation and the utterly exhilarating exhaustion of a newborn baby, I don't think I can prepare myself for the thrilling ride of the teenage years ahead. But they will come. And they will transform my boy into a man. Oh my.
Sunday, 20 November 2011
Loving your Daughters-in-Law (before you've even met them)
I have 3 boys. No girls, just boys. My home is littered with plastic soldiers, drumkits, lego and dinosaurs. We have no Disney Princess dvd's but a plethora of Star Wars, X Men, Peter Pan and (my personal favourite) Inspector Gadget. Camo clothes cover my radiators and (the perfect phrase coined by the mother in Outnumbered) a wee tsunami covers my bathroom floor. We don't eat pretty pink cupcakes, but pies, meat and hearty stews are the fare in our family. We 'ooh' and 'aah' at the cars on Top Gear, but Strictly Come Dancing cannot be tolerated. Burps and worse are part of our mealtime conversations and armpit farts (and even knee, elbow and other body part farts) have to be limited to only a few minutes per day or nothing else would be accomplished.
But one day, my time will come and I will (hopefully) have some daughters-in-law. Ever one to imagine the future, I look forward to the day that I will not be the only girl in the house. Sometimes, desperately clawing onto my female identity, I feel like an honorary boy. I also look forward to presenting my boys to the world, ready for their lives without the supervision of a mother (no 'Young, Dumb and Living off Mum' in our family). Unfortunately they will not wake up suddenly willing and able to look after themselves and others. There is no point waiting for them to be ready - all they time they are being served by a loving Mother who will pick up their dirty pants from the floor, they will not be ready. No, they need training.
And this is where I have my daughers-in-law in mind. I married a man who could cook, clean and iron. (I can barely bring myself to admit that actually he is better than me at it). When I hear other women moaning about their husbands, I am extremely grateful to my mother-in-law for teaching him those basic skills. It has meant that we have shared the load and when I have had small babies, or been ill, he has been able to keep the house running smoothly.
To get myself off to a head start with the relationship with my daughters-in-law, I need to get training my boys. It occurred to me that if they can use all their new fangled electronic devices, then why can they not work the washing machine? If they can organise themselves at school (ok, not all of them can - some of them need training in that too, and I have one of those!), why can they not organise themselves at home? If they can follow a timetable, why can they not follow a recipe? If they love working as a team to accomplish a goal, why not train them to work as a family team to achieve a house than runs well?
Training them to cook, clean and do their washing teaches them so much more than just how to do the job. It teaches them about teamwork; it teaches them about discipline and getting on with the job even when you don't feel like it; it helps them to appreciate what others do for them; it gives them organisational skills and teaches them responsibility; it teaches them about consequences (yes, really, if Toby forgets to wash his school uniform, I will not be doing it for him).
The temptation is to do it all ourselves because it is just so much quicker, easier and avoids the inevitable battle. And oh, how I know that tempation - especially with one certain, eccentric, highly disorganised middle son. We must look ahead though. If we always give in to this temptation (and sometimes I certainly do!) we will produce sons who not only do not know how to do anything for themselves, but expect others to do it for them. Instead of offering to make a cup of tea, they will plonk themselves on the sofa and holler for you to make one for them. Dirty pants and socks will litter the floor because you have always picked them up and washed them. We will produce heart-warming meals that they will gulp down and rush off to their next important activity, leaving the table cluttered with dishes for us to clear. We will not be giving away our sons as men in marriage, ready to cherish, protect and love their wives, we will be passing on children for someone else to look after.
We need to love our future daughter-in-laws by training our boys. You never know, my training might work and one day my bathroom floor might be dry.
But one day, my time will come and I will (hopefully) have some daughters-in-law. Ever one to imagine the future, I look forward to the day that I will not be the only girl in the house. Sometimes, desperately clawing onto my female identity, I feel like an honorary boy. I also look forward to presenting my boys to the world, ready for their lives without the supervision of a mother (no 'Young, Dumb and Living off Mum' in our family). Unfortunately they will not wake up suddenly willing and able to look after themselves and others. There is no point waiting for them to be ready - all they time they are being served by a loving Mother who will pick up their dirty pants from the floor, they will not be ready. No, they need training.
And this is where I have my daughers-in-law in mind. I married a man who could cook, clean and iron. (I can barely bring myself to admit that actually he is better than me at it). When I hear other women moaning about their husbands, I am extremely grateful to my mother-in-law for teaching him those basic skills. It has meant that we have shared the load and when I have had small babies, or been ill, he has been able to keep the house running smoothly.
To get myself off to a head start with the relationship with my daughters-in-law, I need to get training my boys. It occurred to me that if they can use all their new fangled electronic devices, then why can they not work the washing machine? If they can organise themselves at school (ok, not all of them can - some of them need training in that too, and I have one of those!), why can they not organise themselves at home? If they can follow a timetable, why can they not follow a recipe? If they love working as a team to accomplish a goal, why not train them to work as a family team to achieve a house than runs well?
Training them to cook, clean and do their washing teaches them so much more than just how to do the job. It teaches them about teamwork; it teaches them about discipline and getting on with the job even when you don't feel like it; it helps them to appreciate what others do for them; it gives them organisational skills and teaches them responsibility; it teaches them about consequences (yes, really, if Toby forgets to wash his school uniform, I will not be doing it for him).
The temptation is to do it all ourselves because it is just so much quicker, easier and avoids the inevitable battle. And oh, how I know that tempation - especially with one certain, eccentric, highly disorganised middle son. We must look ahead though. If we always give in to this temptation (and sometimes I certainly do!) we will produce sons who not only do not know how to do anything for themselves, but expect others to do it for them. Instead of offering to make a cup of tea, they will plonk themselves on the sofa and holler for you to make one for them. Dirty pants and socks will litter the floor because you have always picked them up and washed them. We will produce heart-warming meals that they will gulp down and rush off to their next important activity, leaving the table cluttered with dishes for us to clear. We will not be giving away our sons as men in marriage, ready to cherish, protect and love their wives, we will be passing on children for someone else to look after.
We need to love our future daughter-in-laws by training our boys. You never know, my training might work and one day my bathroom floor might be dry.
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Dead birds and Feelings
"Mum! There is a pheasant eating a bloody bird in our garden!", the excited voice greeted me as I ventured downstairs this morning. During the night a cat (possibly ours) had butchered an innocent bird and left the feathers and entrails in our garden. By the time I looked out the window, the mystery 'pheasant' had vanished. The boys were so excited, it took all of my strength and will to prevent them from going outside at 7:30am to inspect the contents of the dead bird.
The troubling incident led me to the differences between girls (or maybe just me) and my boys yet again. Why on earth is it exciting to see the bloody intestines of a bird spread about around our garden? How can they possibly want to inspect it straight after breakfast? Of course, I could transform it into an educational moment, but at that time of the morning I was not quite awake enough to fulfill my teaching role.
If you have read any of my previous blogs you will know that I am passionate about seeing our boys be free to be the boys they were made to be, accepting all their adventures, risk taking, superhero delusions and noise making capabilities. However, I was struck again this morning by the fact that there has to be a limit even to this. If we give them total freedom, they will not learn to be disciplined. We will create selfish children who only think of themselves, and not how their actions affect other people. We will also, dare I say it, not allow them to develop any of the more feminine traits.
Don't click on another tab yet. I am not advocating lip stick and glittery high school musical school bags. Nor am I suggesting that girls cannot have adventures and take risks (although I am not sure I know of many little girls with superhero delusions). However, I do see my role as the sole female in the house, and as the mother of 3 incredibly testosterone fuelled boys, as one of enabling them to learn about their emotions and to experience enjoyment of reading or art. Before anyone tells me that these are stereotypes, I know they are. I know that many grown men are sensitive and enjoy the quieter activities. I am not writing a blog about stereotypes, I am writing a blog about a mother's role to develop her sons.
From when my boys were very young, I have taught them about their emotions. We used to sit in front of the mirror making happy faces and sad faces. I have encouraged them to talk about how they feel. I have welcomed their outbursts of emotion, even the angry ones (although this is sometimes harder), because they give us an opportunity to learn. I work hard at passing on to them my love of reading and the written word. I point out beauty in nature and use words that boys might not necessarily use. I discuss with them how other people might feel in different situations. My job as their mother is to develop their emotions and help them to understand them. It is to foster in them a sensitivity towards others. This is more difficult with some boys than others. Toby, for example, is highly sensitive to other's feelings. Max, at the other extreme, probably wouldn't even notice if someone was in the same room as him nevermind thinking about what they might be feeling! I can only do my best with the boys I have been given.
Of course, when the boys come home from school they will go straight outside and inspect the, by then sun-cooked and rotted, dead bird. As much as I would like to, I cannot contain their excitement about it. By that time I might be able to rack my brains and transform it into a teaching moment, then at least I will feel it had some use. Their training in emotional development will continue until they are not in my care anymore. You never know, one day they might see a dead bird and manage to refrain from jumping up and down, finally able to contain the thrill within them.
The troubling incident led me to the differences between girls (or maybe just me) and my boys yet again. Why on earth is it exciting to see the bloody intestines of a bird spread about around our garden? How can they possibly want to inspect it straight after breakfast? Of course, I could transform it into an educational moment, but at that time of the morning I was not quite awake enough to fulfill my teaching role.
If you have read any of my previous blogs you will know that I am passionate about seeing our boys be free to be the boys they were made to be, accepting all their adventures, risk taking, superhero delusions and noise making capabilities. However, I was struck again this morning by the fact that there has to be a limit even to this. If we give them total freedom, they will not learn to be disciplined. We will create selfish children who only think of themselves, and not how their actions affect other people. We will also, dare I say it, not allow them to develop any of the more feminine traits.
Don't click on another tab yet. I am not advocating lip stick and glittery high school musical school bags. Nor am I suggesting that girls cannot have adventures and take risks (although I am not sure I know of many little girls with superhero delusions). However, I do see my role as the sole female in the house, and as the mother of 3 incredibly testosterone fuelled boys, as one of enabling them to learn about their emotions and to experience enjoyment of reading or art. Before anyone tells me that these are stereotypes, I know they are. I know that many grown men are sensitive and enjoy the quieter activities. I am not writing a blog about stereotypes, I am writing a blog about a mother's role to develop her sons.
From when my boys were very young, I have taught them about their emotions. We used to sit in front of the mirror making happy faces and sad faces. I have encouraged them to talk about how they feel. I have welcomed their outbursts of emotion, even the angry ones (although this is sometimes harder), because they give us an opportunity to learn. I work hard at passing on to them my love of reading and the written word. I point out beauty in nature and use words that boys might not necessarily use. I discuss with them how other people might feel in different situations. My job as their mother is to develop their emotions and help them to understand them. It is to foster in them a sensitivity towards others. This is more difficult with some boys than others. Toby, for example, is highly sensitive to other's feelings. Max, at the other extreme, probably wouldn't even notice if someone was in the same room as him nevermind thinking about what they might be feeling! I can only do my best with the boys I have been given.
Of course, when the boys come home from school they will go straight outside and inspect the, by then sun-cooked and rotted, dead bird. As much as I would like to, I cannot contain their excitement about it. By that time I might be able to rack my brains and transform it into a teaching moment, then at least I will feel it had some use. Their training in emotional development will continue until they are not in my care anymore. You never know, one day they might see a dead bird and manage to refrain from jumping up and down, finally able to contain the thrill within them.
Friday, 9 September 2011
The Highs and Lows of Back to School
Every week brings with it highs and lows, here are a few highs and lows from our first week back into routine....
Highs
On Thursday morning, I enjoyed a blissful morning of peace. Of course, there were seven week's worth of jobs to be done, but I was able to complete them without the 'help' of lots of other little hands (and voices). Actually, I did not complete them all. I almost completed them, and then, feeling the satisfaction of actually having done some cleaning I sat down, had a cup of tea and read my book.
Today, as Jonah came out of his second day in the nursery class with yet another stolen vegetable from their veg patch, I had a little giggle to myself. Yesterday he brought home a runner bean, today it was two tomatoes - one green and one red. Does he think they are just there for the taking? Perhaps he thinks they are part of the nursery experience. He does, however, look extremely cute in his little uniform. It almost makes him look respectable.
Over the week I have watched Toby growing in confidence and enjoying meeting new people. I have seen him take all of this on board by himself, without me there to guide him or even protect him. Of course, now he is in Middle School, he really does know everything. If we thought he knew everything before, we were wrong.
Max's first day brought a rare moment of organisation. These moments come so infrequently in his life, that they must be documented and cherished. He even asked me for a 'morning timetable' so that he knew what he needed to do each morning. After his first day back at school, he arrived home, took his shoes off and put them in the cupboard. He then hung up his bookbag (I am amazed he remembered to do that considering he probably only did it once for the whole of last year) on the hook, emptied out his lunchbox and put it next to the sink. I stood, mouth gaping, and foolishly thought he had turned over a new leaf. Today proved me wrong, of course, as he crawled home from school on his hands and knees (he was too tired to walk) and when he eventually made it through the front door, he lay in the middle of the floor for 10 minutes making loud donkey-type noises.
Lows
The tiredness and grump levels have, towards the end of the week, reached a record of new proportions. Having been well behaved in their new classrooms all week, they have to have somewhere to let their true feelings escape. Where better than at home and who better to punch than your brother? I have refereed many fights this week.
Having had the most relaxing (well, perhaps relaxing is not the best word) summer for ten years, the early mornings have come as quite a shock to my system. I could never understand other mums complaining about the early start. I did not realise that children were capable of sleeping later than 6:30am. Whilst Toby was up and dressed at that awful time on his first day at Middle School, the rest of us were somewhat slower to come round.
I have begun the 'Year of the School Run'. With Jonah in the nursery part time, I am now traipsing down to school and back again three times each day. I will soon know where each dog poo has been laid and where every crack in every pavement lies.
And so begins another term.
Highs
On Thursday morning, I enjoyed a blissful morning of peace. Of course, there were seven week's worth of jobs to be done, but I was able to complete them without the 'help' of lots of other little hands (and voices). Actually, I did not complete them all. I almost completed them, and then, feeling the satisfaction of actually having done some cleaning I sat down, had a cup of tea and read my book.
Today, as Jonah came out of his second day in the nursery class with yet another stolen vegetable from their veg patch, I had a little giggle to myself. Yesterday he brought home a runner bean, today it was two tomatoes - one green and one red. Does he think they are just there for the taking? Perhaps he thinks they are part of the nursery experience. He does, however, look extremely cute in his little uniform. It almost makes him look respectable.
Over the week I have watched Toby growing in confidence and enjoying meeting new people. I have seen him take all of this on board by himself, without me there to guide him or even protect him. Of course, now he is in Middle School, he really does know everything. If we thought he knew everything before, we were wrong.
Max's first day brought a rare moment of organisation. These moments come so infrequently in his life, that they must be documented and cherished. He even asked me for a 'morning timetable' so that he knew what he needed to do each morning. After his first day back at school, he arrived home, took his shoes off and put them in the cupboard. He then hung up his bookbag (I am amazed he remembered to do that considering he probably only did it once for the whole of last year) on the hook, emptied out his lunchbox and put it next to the sink. I stood, mouth gaping, and foolishly thought he had turned over a new leaf. Today proved me wrong, of course, as he crawled home from school on his hands and knees (he was too tired to walk) and when he eventually made it through the front door, he lay in the middle of the floor for 10 minutes making loud donkey-type noises.
Lows
The tiredness and grump levels have, towards the end of the week, reached a record of new proportions. Having been well behaved in their new classrooms all week, they have to have somewhere to let their true feelings escape. Where better than at home and who better to punch than your brother? I have refereed many fights this week.
Having had the most relaxing (well, perhaps relaxing is not the best word) summer for ten years, the early mornings have come as quite a shock to my system. I could never understand other mums complaining about the early start. I did not realise that children were capable of sleeping later than 6:30am. Whilst Toby was up and dressed at that awful time on his first day at Middle School, the rest of us were somewhat slower to come round.
I have begun the 'Year of the School Run'. With Jonah in the nursery part time, I am now traipsing down to school and back again three times each day. I will soon know where each dog poo has been laid and where every crack in every pavement lies.
And so begins another term.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
New Starts
The holidays are over. We have just experienced the first summer holidays without a toddler or baby in tow and, as much as toddlers and babies are cute and everything, it was fantastic. We actually had lie-ins (until 7:45, but when you have spent years getting up between 5 and 6am, that really is a lie-in) and going out is so much easier without all the (un)necessary paraphernalia. I even managed not to yell at the boys (apart from the "lunch is ready" yelling and the "stop weeing up the garden shed" yelling) until week 6. This is most definitely progress.
However, all good things (and tiring things and noisy things) come to an end. Today was my biggest boy's first day at Middle School. He spent his last evening of freedom subjecting us all to nerve-driven verbal diaorrhea and shed quite a few tears at bedtime when his mind was plagued with worries (although this is not to be admitted to now he is at Middle School). He was up and dressed at 6:30am, all ready for his new start! I waved him off this morning with a reassuring smile on my face and threatening tears brimming in my eyes. As I closed the door on him and let the tears fall, I felt again another painful snip of that umbilical chord and took a deep breath, knowing we are about to enter a whole new world with him.
My littlest also begins his school journey this week as he joins the nursery class at our school. What they will make of him, I do not know. I heard a most excellent description of a deadly ant (on Deadly 60 for all those who also watch it!) which summed up my 4 year old perfectly. "He is fearless and has an attitude that is far too big for his size." Nursery staff, you have been warned! Will I feel tearful leaving him at nursery on Thursday? Not in the slightest. In fact, I may even be seen skipping home.
What is my reaction as a mum to all these new beginnings? My reaction is to grieve what has passed, but also to celebrate what is to come. My boys are growing up and taking brave steps towards independence. I am right behind them, watching them totter, and will be there when they fall (which they will - but don't boys love a good injury to show off to their mates?) but I have to let them take these steps themselves.
Next in the plan for independence is to teach my lovely, but eccentric, Max to be more organised ....... This may take some time ......
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