So my eldest, a few days ago, embraced his sixteenth year. Prior to the fateful day he had informed me he would now be old enough to get married (God help that girl!) with his parental consent (if anyone girl is barking enough to want him, she can have him!); he would be able to join the armed forces but not enter a war zone (oh so it is alright if his family live in one as he battles against us!); he could sell scrap metal ( no point we live in Essex that market is saturated!); drink wine or beer with a meal in a restaurant (Boy, if you're offering to take us out for a meal, your mother is not complaining!) or leave home with his parent's consent (Oh so tempting!) and so on and so on.
Well, the morning of his birthday began with a grunt from his pit of a bedroom as I scooted out to work with my youngest in tow. I had left his gifts on the kitchen table so he could open them as he arose victorious from his lair to claim his sixteenth year. I had also left a malteser cake aka Lorraine Pascale on the side ready for the midweek evening celebrations. Stupid, stupid me!
On returning home from work with youngest still in tow chatting merrily about his day at school, the house was deathly quiet. The twins were nowhere to be seen. Unusual. The lights were dim. Unusual. I marched upstairs to discover the birthday boy lying on his bed looking at the ceiling.
"Happy Birthday", I exclaimed. "How was school?"
"Ok,"he sighed.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied. Well clearly "nothing" meant everything.
"Did you like the gifts?" I enquired over the dulcet flat tones of my youngest singing "Happy Birthday to You!"
"Yeah, they were ok," he managed to sigh. Still there was no sign of the twins.
"Come on what is wrong?" I coaxed. Had his sixteenth year released a deep rooted depression?
"YOU DIDN'T MAKE ME A CAKE!" there was genuine emotion in his outcry.
"I flipping well did! A malteser ca...." before I could finish my sentence I realised what had happened. My pathetic attempt to contain the rising beast in his lair gave the twins enough time to grab their tennis kit and run for the door.
"Have a good game boys," I shouted hands splayed out on the chest of their elder brother attempting to race after them.
"Thanks Mum" they chorused dripping the remnants of their breakfast, lunch and tea behind them - those wonderful spherical chocolate balls of honeycomb centres!
Even though my sweet sixteen year old could leave home, marry, trade and drink in a restaurant, he was only really happy to embrace the fact that his mother, still in her coat, started to create yet another malteser cake to make everything better. My youngest sang throughout to cheer his older brother from his sixteen year old gloom. How many tears have been spent at a birthday when you could cry if you want to?
Thursday 29 November 2012
Thursday 22 November 2012
The Defensive Lion
My youngest is a sensitive soul prone to fantasy and comedic by nature. However, life can be full of carnivores, and as parents we are well aware of this. So what do we do? Tell our kids to be honest? Tell our kids to be moral?Tell our kids to be good citizens owning up when they have over- stepped the mark? Of course. That's the only way surely that makes society work. Isn't it? Yet, some out there make excuses: they protect their own, come what may and some out there are just mad, bad or odd.
So I have introduced my youngest to rugby! Why? Team spirit, fighting for a goal, being part of a community and learning to think on your feet and make tough decisions. Just harden up and face and embrace. Yes some may think that is harsh but the old adage is : cruel to be kind!
So we joined the club. A different one from his older brothers so he could have a voice apart from his older siblings.
He loved the kit. Twirling in front of the mirror growling into the glass, he aped alpha male. Yet, as a mother, I knew from this things were not going to plan.
His godfather, a Kiwi but resident in the UK for 12 years, took us to the club. His club.
At the ground, my youngest chatted rolling around on the tuff, happy to be out in the open air. He befriended all. Still I knew that things were not going to plan.
When asked to catch and throw, he was in his element tossing the ball gently and running away if thrown back with strength. I knew things were not going to plan. His godfather grinned.
Playing bulldog with tags showed his true colours. He ran about giving back the tags to all the poor souls who had been caught, attaching them with care and a smile. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather sighed and rolled his eyes.
Asked to run, he swirled and skipped forwards. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather ran his hands over his face in despair.
However, the true moment of dawning-the epiphany for me (when I realised that my boy was not built for this sport), was when the coach asked them to stand on the defensive line. My son, my gentle, fey,happy-go-lucky child decided to stand in the middle of the pitch and growl hands raised as claws - a defensive lion. Full marks for creativity but zero for the wonderful world of rugby. He had misheard or misinterrupted defensive line for defensive lion! At that moment things were not going to plan at all. At that moment his godfather walked away with a barely hidden sob and at that moment I realised, you can't toughen up a gentle soul; you can only teach teach them life skills to cope with the aggression in the big wide world. And more importantly, you have to embrace each child for their own worth. So my son may be the first English boy to rewrite the Hukka: Skip, meow, skip! But hopefully his gentle soul will not be forced into a defensive line nor a defensive lion's mouth.
So I have introduced my youngest to rugby! Why? Team spirit, fighting for a goal, being part of a community and learning to think on your feet and make tough decisions. Just harden up and face and embrace. Yes some may think that is harsh but the old adage is : cruel to be kind!
So we joined the club. A different one from his older brothers so he could have a voice apart from his older siblings.
He loved the kit. Twirling in front of the mirror growling into the glass, he aped alpha male. Yet, as a mother, I knew from this things were not going to plan.
His godfather, a Kiwi but resident in the UK for 12 years, took us to the club. His club.
At the ground, my youngest chatted rolling around on the tuff, happy to be out in the open air. He befriended all. Still I knew that things were not going to plan.
When asked to catch and throw, he was in his element tossing the ball gently and running away if thrown back with strength. I knew things were not going to plan. His godfather grinned.
Playing bulldog with tags showed his true colours. He ran about giving back the tags to all the poor souls who had been caught, attaching them with care and a smile. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather sighed and rolled his eyes.
Asked to run, he swirled and skipped forwards. I knew things were not going to plan! His godfather ran his hands over his face in despair.
However, the true moment of dawning-the epiphany for me (when I realised that my boy was not built for this sport), was when the coach asked them to stand on the defensive line. My son, my gentle, fey,happy-go-lucky child decided to stand in the middle of the pitch and growl hands raised as claws - a defensive lion. Full marks for creativity but zero for the wonderful world of rugby. He had misheard or misinterrupted defensive line for defensive lion! At that moment things were not going to plan at all. At that moment his godfather walked away with a barely hidden sob and at that moment I realised, you can't toughen up a gentle soul; you can only teach teach them life skills to cope with the aggression in the big wide world. And more importantly, you have to embrace each child for their own worth. So my son may be the first English boy to rewrite the Hukka: Skip, meow, skip! But hopefully his gentle soul will not be forced into a defensive line nor a defensive lion's mouth.
Monday 19 November 2012
Will You Walk Me Down The Aisle?
Wedding preparations are afoot in this neck of the woods. In this house to be exact. No I have not resorted to marrying off my eldest to the highest bidder although I have been tempted at times! I figured that any bride brave enough to take him on would soon send him back with her father demanding a refund and possible recompense.
The wedding plans are for my looming big day in April. The venue is booked; the rings have been ordered and I am sure everything else will fall into place once my fiance has organised the rest of it. Yep, I am more of an ideas person and he is more of an action man! His disgruntled moan of "Woman, you need to do something!" is just a ruse on his part and he secretly cannot wait to meet with caterers; order the flowers; chose the invites; sort the music; design a cake etc. All men love to take control don't they? So this bride- to- be is showing her man that he has all the power and he is a true alpha male, a hunter. A hunter of all things wedding. This bride-to-be is sitting back, having a cuppa, watching and letting the hunting begin.
To ensure he fully understood that I will support all his decisions I took the trouble to buy him a file so he could sort everything. That is why I cannot understand his feigned reluctance and raised eyebrows. I fail to understand why he seems a little stressed and even a little irritated. I have told him that I know he will arrange a wonderful day and I will concentrate on finding the most perfect dress. Seriously, I think I heard the term: "Screw the dress" However, like my eldest I think he finds annunciation difficult and I am convinced he really said: " I'll do the rest".
Not wishing to seem lazy, I offered to get involved. He looked at me from under his brows: "How exactly are you going to get involved? Plan your hair? Organise a girl's night? Or just plan to turn up?" I actually believe I saw sarcasm dripping from his lips.
"No. I will arrange something!" I replied.
"Now don't go to too much effort, darling, I want you alive for the "big day". I think." was his retort. Well that did it. With a peevish sigh I marched to my eldest son's room and knocked.
"What?" barked said boy.
Still from the other side of the door I said:"Can I come in?"
"Why?" he barked again.
"I need to ask you something."
"What?" he growled.
"For the love of God, can you walk me down the aisle?" I snarled.
"Walk you down the aisle? Walk you down!" he roared through the closed door. "I'll drag you down it if it stops you from constantly knocking on my door! I'll push you down if it means you will stop gazing at grim dresses on the internet. I'll fire you in a rocket down it if it means you will go and organise something in the house!" I remained motionless outside his door, arms crossed, affronted As I turned to thump downstairs I slapped into the hulk of my fiance who stood there laughing. " I'll launch her straight back to you boy if she doesn't start trying to help organise something!"
The wedding plans are for my looming big day in April. The venue is booked; the rings have been ordered and I am sure everything else will fall into place once my fiance has organised the rest of it. Yep, I am more of an ideas person and he is more of an action man! His disgruntled moan of "Woman, you need to do something!" is just a ruse on his part and he secretly cannot wait to meet with caterers; order the flowers; chose the invites; sort the music; design a cake etc. All men love to take control don't they? So this bride- to- be is showing her man that he has all the power and he is a true alpha male, a hunter. A hunter of all things wedding. This bride-to-be is sitting back, having a cuppa, watching and letting the hunting begin.
To ensure he fully understood that I will support all his decisions I took the trouble to buy him a file so he could sort everything. That is why I cannot understand his feigned reluctance and raised eyebrows. I fail to understand why he seems a little stressed and even a little irritated. I have told him that I know he will arrange a wonderful day and I will concentrate on finding the most perfect dress. Seriously, I think I heard the term: "Screw the dress" However, like my eldest I think he finds annunciation difficult and I am convinced he really said: " I'll do the rest".
Not wishing to seem lazy, I offered to get involved. He looked at me from under his brows: "How exactly are you going to get involved? Plan your hair? Organise a girl's night? Or just plan to turn up?" I actually believe I saw sarcasm dripping from his lips.
"No. I will arrange something!" I replied.
"Now don't go to too much effort, darling, I want you alive for the "big day". I think." was his retort. Well that did it. With a peevish sigh I marched to my eldest son's room and knocked.
"What?" barked said boy.
Still from the other side of the door I said:"Can I come in?"
"Why?" he barked again.
"I need to ask you something."
"What?" he growled.
"For the love of God, can you walk me down the aisle?" I snarled.
"Walk you down the aisle? Walk you down!" he roared through the closed door. "I'll drag you down it if it stops you from constantly knocking on my door! I'll push you down if it means you will stop gazing at grim dresses on the internet. I'll fire you in a rocket down it if it means you will go and organise something in the house!" I remained motionless outside his door, arms crossed, affronted As I turned to thump downstairs I slapped into the hulk of my fiance who stood there laughing. " I'll launch her straight back to you boy if she doesn't start trying to help organise something!"
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