With great excitement, my little sister and I would trawl around the Travel Agents of Horsham, collecting travel brochures and pretending we were going on holiday. Once collected, we would take them all home and set up our very own Travel Agents in our bedroom. I loved the thrill of collecting the brochures and making sure we had a good range of different countries and types of holidays for our own Agency. I took great pleasure in laying the brochures out so we had the perfect display, and making the signs that said "Come to Helen and Trudi's Travel Agency" or "Special Offers!".
Once we were satisfied with the perfection of our Travel Agents, we were ready to begin the game. Except that I was not. To my sister's frustration, I then announced that "I don't want to play anymore." For me, the buzz was in the setting up. The adventure and the action of setting up the game was all I was interested in, leaving my poor sister vexed and annoyed with me.
Now, with a family of my own, I greet this battle again head on. Setting up our own business is full of emotional ups and downs with the heady excitement of other people's interest and the reality of the long hard slog ahead. I find myself thinking yet again "I don't want to do this anymore". I have many excuses: The challenge is too hard. We don't have enough money to make it work and can't seem to find anyone who will sponsor or support us. We are using up every evening available and every spare minute of our time. Jared is also trying to hold down a full time job. Our family time is being sacrificed.
Yet this time, I cannot just give up. We have come too far for me to walk out of the room, throwing the travel brochures down behind me. Yes, it is extremely hard work and yes, I am tired of it all. Do I think we will make it? I honestly don't know, but we have to try. We are so passionate about inspiring families to love the outdoors and to discover the wilderness and beauty of creation that we just have to keep going. It's not easy though and the battle of giving up is often hovering behind me, whispering in my ear. Perhaps, to my sister's relief, this time I will learn to persevere.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Heroes and Villains
Gazing up at the big perm, the trendy 80's clothes and the soft silvery pink lipstick, the arrival of my big brother's new girlfriend brought a new hero into my life. At 9 years old, I was in awe of her and wanted to be just like her.
Children need heroes. They need role models and they need healthy relationships with adults other than their parents. I have been reminded of this today as our wonderful friends have looked after our boys for a couple of hours for us. Max had someone else to teach him how to climb trees and build fires, and Jonah spent a happy time making a mess / cooking in someone else's kitchen!
Although I suspect my mum knew more than I told her about my teenage years, I did not readily talk about my teenage woes with her. There were, however, other women who were well trusted both by myself and, now I think about it, by my parents who were generous with their wise and godly advice to me throughout my teenage years. The relationships I had with these women were vital and I look back with fondness and gratitude of their sometimes sacrificial time and love given to me.
Children and teenagers will look for role models whether we like it or not. If we do not point them to the right people, and provide them with those relationships, they will look to teenage magazines that spout rubbish about needing to have the latest designer shoes or celebrities whose marriages change with their underpants. This is why we need to ensure that our children have role models who we, as parents, trust. We need to be developing those friendships with other adults now so that when the time comes for them to go to someone else for wisdom, we have the perfect person waiting in the wings. I want my boys to look up to men who are passionate about God, who are wise, who dare to be different in the world, who have strong marriages and who take risks and love adventure.
If we do not provide our boys with those heroes, they will look to villains. We need to be pro-active now in creating time and opportunities for these relationships to develop before it is too late and the villain steps into the breach.
Children need heroes. They need role models and they need healthy relationships with adults other than their parents. I have been reminded of this today as our wonderful friends have looked after our boys for a couple of hours for us. Max had someone else to teach him how to climb trees and build fires, and Jonah spent a happy time making a mess / cooking in someone else's kitchen!
Although I suspect my mum knew more than I told her about my teenage years, I did not readily talk about my teenage woes with her. There were, however, other women who were well trusted both by myself and, now I think about it, by my parents who were generous with their wise and godly advice to me throughout my teenage years. The relationships I had with these women were vital and I look back with fondness and gratitude of their sometimes sacrificial time and love given to me.
Children and teenagers will look for role models whether we like it or not. If we do not point them to the right people, and provide them with those relationships, they will look to teenage magazines that spout rubbish about needing to have the latest designer shoes or celebrities whose marriages change with their underpants. This is why we need to ensure that our children have role models who we, as parents, trust. We need to be developing those friendships with other adults now so that when the time comes for them to go to someone else for wisdom, we have the perfect person waiting in the wings. I want my boys to look up to men who are passionate about God, who are wise, who dare to be different in the world, who have strong marriages and who take risks and love adventure.
If we do not provide our boys with those heroes, they will look to villains. We need to be pro-active now in creating time and opportunities for these relationships to develop before it is too late and the villain steps into the breach.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Invasion of the Dirt House
Having recently had an operation and being unable to clean the house it has quickly resembled a landfill site. Piles of the boy's drawings, pens without lids littering the floor, corners full of dust balls, letters scattered in different places, duplo towers towering the heights, empty dvd cases lying in wait, not to mention the state of the toilet. It's up to you if you want to use your imagination on that one.
This morning, in a desperate attempt to clean up the ever increasing chaos we engaged the services of our boys. This is a great risk. Either we will spend the whole time nagging, cajoling and eventually crying or they will throw themselves into the task wholeheartedly. It's a tricky business which requires great skill in handling.
First, we told them we needed an Army to 'invade the dirt house'. It was a difficult mission. We gave each Groundtrooper a name - "Sniper Max", "Cadet Jonah", "Private Toby" while I was "General Mum" and Jared was "Special Forces Dad". We gave each one an assignment. Each assigment was to tidy, dust and hoover one room. The rules were as follows:
No torturing the enemy.
Stay on your assigment until it is completed.
Always follow The General's instructions.
Then, we played "Eye of the Tiger" very loudly and dispatched them.
To my utter amazement, they spent 45 minutes on each room. They did it beautifully (although they would not appreciate my use of that particular word). Of course, they were over-enthusiastic with the furniture polish and now the wooden floor is hazardously slippery and the hoovering attempts left large gaps but overall The General approved their efforts.
This is such a rare occurance which took me by surprise. Usually our efforts at getting them to clean and tidy are met with moans, groans, cryings and "But I didn't make that mess"! Often I feel like the house slave. Today, they have shown me they can do it. That was their first mistake.
This morning, in a desperate attempt to clean up the ever increasing chaos we engaged the services of our boys. This is a great risk. Either we will spend the whole time nagging, cajoling and eventually crying or they will throw themselves into the task wholeheartedly. It's a tricky business which requires great skill in handling.
First, we told them we needed an Army to 'invade the dirt house'. It was a difficult mission. We gave each Groundtrooper a name - "Sniper Max", "Cadet Jonah", "Private Toby" while I was "General Mum" and Jared was "Special Forces Dad". We gave each one an assignment. Each assigment was to tidy, dust and hoover one room. The rules were as follows:
No torturing the enemy.
Stay on your assigment until it is completed.
Always follow The General's instructions.
Then, we played "Eye of the Tiger" very loudly and dispatched them.
To my utter amazement, they spent 45 minutes on each room. They did it beautifully (although they would not appreciate my use of that particular word). Of course, they were over-enthusiastic with the furniture polish and now the wooden floor is hazardously slippery and the hoovering attempts left large gaps but overall The General approved their efforts.
This is such a rare occurance which took me by surprise. Usually our efforts at getting them to clean and tidy are met with moans, groans, cryings and "But I didn't make that mess"! Often I feel like the house slave. Today, they have shown me they can do it. That was their first mistake.
Saturday, 2 April 2011
Bonnets for Boys
At what other time in the year are boys expected to dress up in pretty, flowery garments and proudly parade around their creations? Why is Easter Bonnet-making such an important part of Easter? Why do we encourage our boys to be manly, masculine, power ranging, sword wielding creatures for most of the time and then suddenly, at Easter, they have to forget all their boyish preferences and encourage femininity and, dare I say it, pastel colours?
Now I am not against boys displaying a more sensitive side and I positively encourage my boys to express their feelings and even cry (although this is becoming harder for them as they grow older and are more aware of society's disapproval of men crying). I am also not against them being creative - in fact I have spent the whole morning making cars, pigs and bowling balls and eyeballs out of clay with Max! I love watching them make and create.
What I find difficult is the expectation that boys will be able to forget their testosterone for a while and make a hat with yellow chicks, ribbon, flowers and other normally detestable items and then parade around wearing it. Why can't boys make Darth Vader hats or Power Rangers masks and parade them instead? Imagine the horror on the pre-school teacher's face when a little boy arrives ready for his Easter Bonnet Parade wearing a Monster mask complete with blood dripping down the sides. Or perhaps a 4 year old boy, obsessed with baddies (and yes, I have a particular 4 year old boy in mind...) wants to wear a hat depicting the meanest, ugliest, scariest baddie he can think of - would he be allowed to parade with the rest of the beautiful frilly bonnets? Would he win the competition? Even if he had spent hours of enjoyment creating it himself (with no parental help - unlike most of the other bonnets in the parade)? I doubt it very much.
This, in my mind, is another subtle attempt at discouraging boyish traits and squishing boys into a box that they simply do not fit. My disclaimer would be that I know some boys enjoy making said bonnets - that is fine. For the boys who do not, however, why not let them be themselves and create hats that symbolise who they are, not who they are expected to be?
Now I am not against boys displaying a more sensitive side and I positively encourage my boys to express their feelings and even cry (although this is becoming harder for them as they grow older and are more aware of society's disapproval of men crying). I am also not against them being creative - in fact I have spent the whole morning making cars, pigs and bowling balls and eyeballs out of clay with Max! I love watching them make and create.
What I find difficult is the expectation that boys will be able to forget their testosterone for a while and make a hat with yellow chicks, ribbon, flowers and other normally detestable items and then parade around wearing it. Why can't boys make Darth Vader hats or Power Rangers masks and parade them instead? Imagine the horror on the pre-school teacher's face when a little boy arrives ready for his Easter Bonnet Parade wearing a Monster mask complete with blood dripping down the sides. Or perhaps a 4 year old boy, obsessed with baddies (and yes, I have a particular 4 year old boy in mind...) wants to wear a hat depicting the meanest, ugliest, scariest baddie he can think of - would he be allowed to parade with the rest of the beautiful frilly bonnets? Would he win the competition? Even if he had spent hours of enjoyment creating it himself (with no parental help - unlike most of the other bonnets in the parade)? I doubt it very much.
This, in my mind, is another subtle attempt at discouraging boyish traits and squishing boys into a box that they simply do not fit. My disclaimer would be that I know some boys enjoy making said bonnets - that is fine. For the boys who do not, however, why not let them be themselves and create hats that symbolise who they are, not who they are expected to be?
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Children Should Be Seen And Not Heard.
Definitely. Especially when they are going to embarrass you. Until he opens his mouth, Jonah looks like the perfect little angelic 3 year old. His blonde hair and sky blue eyes are enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. Until he opens his mouth, that is.
Walking home from school this afternoon, (whilst listening to 3 sets of the day's news, stopping one boy from running into the road, pushing one back onto the pavement from the curb, making sure another one doesn't turn fun running into racing running, ensuring nobody steps in dog poo etc etc) we happen upon the bus stop. Waiting at the stop was a lady. Jonah smiled his beautiful, winning smile and waved to her. He often waves to people and says hello, so this was nothing new.
As I approached with Toby and Max in tow, Jonah shouted to me. His voice is not quiet, ever. I don't think he knows the meaning of the word quiet. Even when he is trying to speak softly, most of the rest of the street can hear him so when he shouts, I think the whole town must be able to tune in.
"MUUUUM!" He shouts, pointing at the lady. At this point, I knew something awful was going to happen and quickly racked my brain for solutions to the impending problem. My school run sloshed brain did not provide a solution quick enough however.
Continuing to smile in his disarming, cherubic way and still pointing at the lady, he hollers at me.
"HE LOOKS LIKE AN OLD GRANDMA!"
(I have to point out here that "he" is used for both the male and female of the species. However much I try to teach him that a girl is a "she", he continues to say "he".)
Toby and Max snigger loudly. The lady (who, if we are being honest, did look like an old grandma) looks slightly flustered and says "Thank you very much."
My brain, not usually up to much at the best of times, was temporarily paralysed and I quickly muttered an apology and hurried the boys on as fast as possible.
I vote for some good old Victorian family values. Keep the mouths of the children shut!
Walking home from school this afternoon, (whilst listening to 3 sets of the day's news, stopping one boy from running into the road, pushing one back onto the pavement from the curb, making sure another one doesn't turn fun running into racing running, ensuring nobody steps in dog poo etc etc) we happen upon the bus stop. Waiting at the stop was a lady. Jonah smiled his beautiful, winning smile and waved to her. He often waves to people and says hello, so this was nothing new.
As I approached with Toby and Max in tow, Jonah shouted to me. His voice is not quiet, ever. I don't think he knows the meaning of the word quiet. Even when he is trying to speak softly, most of the rest of the street can hear him so when he shouts, I think the whole town must be able to tune in.
"MUUUUM!" He shouts, pointing at the lady. At this point, I knew something awful was going to happen and quickly racked my brain for solutions to the impending problem. My school run sloshed brain did not provide a solution quick enough however.
Continuing to smile in his disarming, cherubic way and still pointing at the lady, he hollers at me.
"HE LOOKS LIKE AN OLD GRANDMA!"
(I have to point out here that "he" is used for both the male and female of the species. However much I try to teach him that a girl is a "she", he continues to say "he".)
Toby and Max snigger loudly. The lady (who, if we are being honest, did look like an old grandma) looks slightly flustered and says "Thank you very much."
My brain, not usually up to much at the best of times, was temporarily paralysed and I quickly muttered an apology and hurried the boys on as fast as possible.
I vote for some good old Victorian family values. Keep the mouths of the children shut!
Monday, 24 January 2011
Gentleness
In attempt to curb some of the unruly and downright selfish behaviour, we have been looking at the fruit of the spirit with our boys. I will not go into enormous detail here for those who are unfamiliar, but the bible passage is:
"But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control; against such things there is no law." Galatians 5 v 22 - 23
These are things that we can only grow in if we are filled with the Holy Spirit and he is running through us like sap through a tree; nourishing us and growing us. We have explained to our boys that they cannot do these things on their own, but when filled with the Spirit, he will give them power and strength.
So.... we made a tree. We stuck it to the wall. We printed out lots of different fruits, wrote bible verses on the back and stuck them to the tree. Each morning, we pick a fruit and I read out the verse. They have to guess the 'fruit' that it relates to and we have a small discussion on how we can apply it and grow in it. Then, of course, we pray.
This morning's mystery fruit was rather appropriate after a weekend full of fighting, punching, kicking and tale telling...... gentleness. It struck me that often gentleness is thought of as a weakness, particularly for men, and is portrayed as a more 'girly' trait. Is it ok for boys and men to be gentle, or does that make them wimps? Don't men have to be tough and stand up for themselves? I often hear mums who have more gentle or quiet boys wishing that their boys would be tougher or rougher.
The conclusion that we came to was that to be gentle, you need to be strong. When a little brother is screaming in your face and you want to hit him, it takes more strength to talk gently to him than it does to sneak in a punch when nobody is looking. Strength, although not confined to the male population, is however something that is celebrated in men. How many men would realise that when they are being gentle towards other they are being strong? How often is gentleness celebrated in men?
Food for thought.... Anyway, my boys all thought of something they could do today that would be gentle and of course they prayed that the Holy Spirit would give them strength to be gentle. There is no point in trying to do it all in our own strength for we will fail every time. As I teach these truths to my boys I am seeing again how much we need God to live out our daily lives. And here I go, brewing a whole new blog before I've even finished this one!
Gentleness eh? Is it a possibility for my wild, active, extremely physical boys? Of course.....
"But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control; against such things there is no law." Galatians 5 v 22 - 23
These are things that we can only grow in if we are filled with the Holy Spirit and he is running through us like sap through a tree; nourishing us and growing us. We have explained to our boys that they cannot do these things on their own, but when filled with the Spirit, he will give them power and strength.
So.... we made a tree. We stuck it to the wall. We printed out lots of different fruits, wrote bible verses on the back and stuck them to the tree. Each morning, we pick a fruit and I read out the verse. They have to guess the 'fruit' that it relates to and we have a small discussion on how we can apply it and grow in it. Then, of course, we pray.
This morning's mystery fruit was rather appropriate after a weekend full of fighting, punching, kicking and tale telling...... gentleness. It struck me that often gentleness is thought of as a weakness, particularly for men, and is portrayed as a more 'girly' trait. Is it ok for boys and men to be gentle, or does that make them wimps? Don't men have to be tough and stand up for themselves? I often hear mums who have more gentle or quiet boys wishing that their boys would be tougher or rougher.
The conclusion that we came to was that to be gentle, you need to be strong. When a little brother is screaming in your face and you want to hit him, it takes more strength to talk gently to him than it does to sneak in a punch when nobody is looking. Strength, although not confined to the male population, is however something that is celebrated in men. How many men would realise that when they are being gentle towards other they are being strong? How often is gentleness celebrated in men?
Food for thought.... Anyway, my boys all thought of something they could do today that would be gentle and of course they prayed that the Holy Spirit would give them strength to be gentle. There is no point in trying to do it all in our own strength for we will fail every time. As I teach these truths to my boys I am seeing again how much we need God to live out our daily lives. And here I go, brewing a whole new blog before I've even finished this one!
Gentleness eh? Is it a possibility for my wild, active, extremely physical boys? Of course.....
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Bravery
We were sitting around a dinner table with friends, playing that classic game "Knowing Me, Knowing You" and I had to answer the question "The bravest thing I have ever done is.......". Other people, guessing what my answer might be, offered such things as "marrying Jared "(well, that was brave, I don't deny it) or "speaking to the headteacher" (on a par with the first suggestion in bravery terms I feel). Racking my tired brain for an answer, I came up with travelling to Nepal and back on my own. This was a big adventure for me at 20 years old and one that I certainly don't think I could do now.
However, after coming home at the ridiculous hour of 12:30am and clambering into bed, I began to appraise my bravery levels. Had I really not done anything more brave than travel to the other side of the world on my own? Then it hit me.
I have spent the last 9 years being brave. Every day I have stayed at home with my insanity inducing small boys, I have been brave. Each morning I have woken up exhausted to yet another day full of toddler prattle, I have been brave. Each time I was disturbed in the night by a baby, toddler or nightmaring child, I have been brave. Every time I have changed pooey pants, I have been brave. Day and night when I had a baby screaming in my face without ceasing, I was brave.
If I am honest, which of course I always am on here, there have been many many times when I have not wanted to stay here. There have been times when I have wanted to drop the washing up gloves, the nappies and the dirty washing and just walk out. There have been plenty of times when I have been tempted to abandon ship. There have been times when, tearing my hair out with the constant demands and fighting, I have felt like giving up. Sometimes, I have left the house, had a good cry in the car, and come back again.
It takes bravery to be a Mum. Speaking softly instead of shouting, takes bravery. Walking away instead of losing your temper and hurting your child, takes bravery. Staying day in, day out, when everything in you wants to leave, takes bravery.
So, what is the bravest thing I've done in my life? Without any doubt, being a Mum.
However, after coming home at the ridiculous hour of 12:30am and clambering into bed, I began to appraise my bravery levels. Had I really not done anything more brave than travel to the other side of the world on my own? Then it hit me.
I have spent the last 9 years being brave. Every day I have stayed at home with my insanity inducing small boys, I have been brave. Each morning I have woken up exhausted to yet another day full of toddler prattle, I have been brave. Each time I was disturbed in the night by a baby, toddler or nightmaring child, I have been brave. Every time I have changed pooey pants, I have been brave. Day and night when I had a baby screaming in my face without ceasing, I was brave.
If I am honest, which of course I always am on here, there have been many many times when I have not wanted to stay here. There have been times when I have wanted to drop the washing up gloves, the nappies and the dirty washing and just walk out. There have been plenty of times when I have been tempted to abandon ship. There have been times when, tearing my hair out with the constant demands and fighting, I have felt like giving up. Sometimes, I have left the house, had a good cry in the car, and come back again.
It takes bravery to be a Mum. Speaking softly instead of shouting, takes bravery. Walking away instead of losing your temper and hurting your child, takes bravery. Staying day in, day out, when everything in you wants to leave, takes bravery.
So, what is the bravest thing I've done in my life? Without any doubt, being a Mum.
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