tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70905816574028425052024-02-07T20:49:41.716+00:00Mother FickleMotherhood is bliss, except when it's not. I change my mind a lot.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-24888494824598970542014-07-25T13:09:00.001+01:002014-07-25T19:11:56.342+01:00Camping is Vantastic!We camped! And there weren't even heavy thunderstorms or projectile puke, which is most important. I will take pretty much anything over children vomiting in a location with no running water.<br />
<br />
Everyone spent the best part of two days getting completely covered in dirt and running around like feral animals. The campsite is surrounded by <strike>a moat with alligators</strike> a fence, so we felt safe letting the kids bike around on their own and run a bit wild.<br />
<br />
Camping is a strange thing, really: you pack up a MASSIVE amount of stuff, load it all into a van*, unload it again a couple hours later, unpack it all, spend a couple hours setting everything up, get it all really dirty, then pack it back up again and take it back home. I can understand why it might not appeal to everyone, but I love it. It's one of the few places where there really isn't anything to do but the absolute basics; you don't get distracted by running errands, you don't check your computer every 10 minutes, you don't do chores around the house, you just chill out. We cooked delicious meals, biked around, went to parks, told jokes and drank wine (as I said, the basics.)<br />
<br />
We also used camping as an escape artistry test ground for The Baby. Turns out, he can now work zips. Up to now, this has been my only means of keeping him somewhat restrained at home so that I can do other important things like shower, go to the toilet and tweet about my kids. While camping, he learned how to completely unzip and remove his sleep sack, climb out of the travel cot, unzip the tent, and run to freedom. This is unfortunate for us, because what's next? Climbing out of his crib at home? Unlocking the front door, taking the car keys, and driving to Spain? I am trying not to think about it too much.<br />
<br />
Next on the agenda: camp and holidays. Did I mention that it's sunny and warm in England? As in, ACTUAL HEAT, not "hey, look, there's the sun so it must also be warm so therefore I will find my smallest items of clothing and wear them and shiver." Or as someone so artfully put on Twitter, the weather forecast for this week is "Put Your Fucking Shirts Back On."<br />
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ <br />
<br />
*Have I told you about The Van? Along with two other neighbors, Husband has joint custody of a hideous green former police van which gets used for important errands like going to the dump, transporting barbecues and motorcycles, and functions as a camping storage unit (when covered with an always-classy blue tarpaulin.) He and the other two owners spend a lot of time doing things like "changing the door handles," and "checking the oil," and sometimes they have Van Meetings at the pub. I would make fun of it more, but I've actually ended up needing it a lot, so I'll admit that it's practical. Ugly, but practical. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-21496099170891381852014-07-17T12:48:00.003+01:002014-07-17T12:48:24.056+01:00Of Tattoos and VomitWe're going camping this weekend. What's that you say? Why yes, they ARE predicting thunderstorms. And did you mention stomach flu? Don't worry, only M has it for now, and I'm sure it will all clear up and not get passed to anyone else. It's highly unlikely that The Baby will start vomiting in the tent in the middle of the night. <br />
<br />
I've been valiantly trying to control the spread of germs, but kids are <strike>gross</strike> not always consistent with hand washing, so I'm not sure how much good it will do. M has spent the last 24 hours throwing up and only just kept down some pita bread and half a banana. Now she is on her 500th hour of crap TV and seems to be getting a bit better. I, however, am just sitting here waiting for one of the other kids to start up because it's never just one. That wouldn't be a challenge! <br />
<br />
Somehow, Husband has missed all the fun, timing a trip to Paris with the beginning of the barfing. I'm convinced that he has some sort of sickness radar that triggers an alert to European colleagues to schedule meetings in other cities the minute one of the kids comes down with something. It's OK though, I know who will getting up in the middle of the night to run a kid through the woods to the latrines. <br />
<br />
(Ugh, probably me.) <br />
<br />
On a bright note, I'm just about to take our friends' French au pair to the tattoo parlor (do they still call it a parlor? Somehow I don't think they do), so I'm pretty sure that nothing can go wrong with that! He's looking for a souvenir of his summer in England, and he'd like me to translate his request to the tattoo-er (tattoo-ist? Despite a totally awesome tramp stamp, I have doubts about my expertise in this area.) How do you say, "I'd like an extra large image of Queen's face in the middle of my back, please?" <br />
<br />
I'll let you know how it all goes. Smoothly, I'm sure.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-54530881775311869432014-07-14T20:09:00.001+01:002014-07-14T22:30:59.905+01:00Summer? Summer? Bueller?I have superpowers! Yesterday, I was able to get someone to scream bloody murder simply by turning off the television, and today I ruined someone's life when I put jam on the wrong part of the plate. It's not exactly laser vision or the ability to fly, but I bet if I work on it, I can get a kid to levitate with rage. <br />
<br />
We are now counting down to the summer holidays, with only seven school days
left until they break up. It's taking F...O...R...E...V...E...R. Everybody is grumpy, no one wants to do homework or put on their uniforms, and I'm lacking the motivation and creativity to make them do it. It's with sheer force of shouting that I get them out the door and walking to school, usually about 10 minutes late. Some people take a different tactic. A friend of mine showed up at school 30 minutes early last week, purely because she couldn't stand to have them in the house for a second longer and preferred to let the grumpiness run its course on the school playground. <br />
<br />
It's not a very long summer break - only six weeks - but it means no schedules, no uniforms, and for us, a few weeks in France. So at least I get to shout at them in a really picturesque countryside setting. <br />
<br />
It's time to call it a day when you start to see stuff like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjRkZGsORr-MR76FaHJ6Ip4rSckpEpi8wA6C7rOrUuyJI2kw-C6AcXiaXffposcetV68sYr-hIlSOUv4sDWnw6HfAhG89W0PmYsbEL8aT90PXOnO8z8a1GLg_irhKLmi-MjiFNZg6CgkX/s1600/DirtyShirt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjRkZGsORr-MR76FaHJ6Ip4rSckpEpi8wA6C7rOrUuyJI2kw-C6AcXiaXffposcetV68sYr-hIlSOUv4sDWnw6HfAhG89W0PmYsbEL8aT90PXOnO8z8a1GLg_irhKLmi-MjiFNZg6CgkX/s1600/DirtyShirt.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I mean, what the hell are they DOING at school? How is this much dirt possible in an academic setting? Aren't they supposed to be learning reading and math? Because that stain is made of at least 10 different substances and my money is on none of them being pencil. That loom band was not on his wrist when he left, and, wait, are his eyes covered in soot? What is happening here??<br />
<br />
Come on summer, hurry up. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-3026574163289203562014-07-11T17:53:00.002+01:002014-07-11T18:09:55.962+01:00Stools<br />
When you're not working, tasks and events expand to fit
the time you have. Everything that you used to squeeze around work and into nights and
weekends can now be done over a longer stretch of time, and if you think that you can't make shopping for a couple kitchen stools last more than an hour or two, you are wrong. Because I'm on day 37 of the Kitchen Stool Expedition and there are still no actual stools in my possession. (Also, the more I use the word "stools," the more I want to make jokes about it, and I don't think that's helping.) <br />
<br />
I find myself doing a lot of things that I probably would have ignored before or just couldn't do because there wasn't time. Printing out and framing photos? Check. Taking too-small clothing to a charity shop? Check. Bathing my kids? Just kidding. I think we've established I don't do THAT very often. <br />
<br />
There are definite advantages to staying at home - I'm able to give a lot more attention to schoolwork and extra-curricular activities. I can volunteer to help out at school. I can commit to and train for races. I can stay on top of all the household admin (which is increasing for us, with a recent decision to buy and do up a new house.) I'm also around for the kids - there to drop them off in the mornings and there to pick them up in the afternoon. Doctor appointments and hair cuts are easy to schedule.<br />
<br />
I understand that it's a luxury to be able to spend time with the children without the financial pressure to work, but I can't help feeling that I still should be trying find a "career." The part of my identity that used to be filled with Media and E-Commerce is somewhat blank at the moment, and I'd like to start redefining it. Whenever I have to fill out the little blue and white landing card at UK airports, I feel slightly panicky when it comes to filling in the line marked Occupation. Like, what do I put? "Recently e-commerce but in-between gigs"? "Looking for a part-time role. Call me!"? "Official Purchaser of Stools"? <br />
<br />
It comes down to the fact that right now I'm not willing to go back to an office job full time, and that limits my options. I know the resentment I end up feeling when I miss out on important bits of the kids lives, and I remember how tired and stressed I was being out all day and only getting home for bath and bedtime. I am enjoying this time at home, perhaps more so because I don't think it will be forever.<br />
<br />
But I miss being part of a work team. I miss having a different place to go spend my day, where I can do something entirely unrelated to kids or school or home. It will happen again at some point - whether in the short term or a bit farther down the line. Good part-time roles are hard to find, but they do exist. In the meantime, I'll keep volunteering at school, running people to gymnastics classes, writing a bit, working out, shouting at the kids, researching kitchen bar stools.<br />
<br />
Also:<br />
100 bucks says that when you read this post title you though it was going to be about something else. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-69449482191688622852014-07-09T12:03:00.001+01:002014-07-09T22:54:00.489+01:00HiatusWell, let's try this again.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, blog writing isn't hugely compatible with working/parenting/breathing (at least for me.) But now I'm back at home after a few years of gainful employment, and since I have a <strike>guilt for not working</strike> more free time and a nanny who helps out with the kids, I figure it wouldn't be bad to get this blog going again. Because surely with no job AND childcare, I should have many hours available to make significant contributions to society, right?? Of course! Many hours! Blogging counts as a contribution to society, surely. I'm also counting my eyebrow threading appointment on Thursday, because wow you do NOT want me to stop doing that...<br />
<br />
Lucky for you I have actually learned some things in the last 3 years, which I think important to share. You can thank me later.<br />
<br />
Important Wisdom: <br />
<br />
1. Sometimes, when you think might get a family dog, it actually ends up being a third child. If this happens, do not also get a dog. That would be overkill. <br />
<br />
2. Never cut up your child's food until you receive SPECIFIC
instructions from them on how many pieces they want and whether they prefer triangles or squares. Get it in writing, if possible, because you cannot undo that shit. <br />
<br />
3. When you have more than one kid, bath night should be an every other day thing at MOST. In winter, this stretches to every 3 days. The way that I see it, the clothing protects them from the dirt, right? If your clothing is <i>that</i> gross after school, I'm assuming it took the brunt of all the encounters with earthworms and playground equipment and the underlying skin is still pristine. <br />
<br />
4. If you weave enough loom bands together and attach them to a pen, you can fire sharpened pencils at the baby's eyeballs, bow-and-arrow style.<br />
<br />
5. You can never get all of your children to all behave well at the same time. The universe won't allow it.<br />
<br />
6. Most children do not still have a pacifier when they are 18, so no biggie if they have one when they are little. Especially if it gives you 8 minutes of peace and quiet. Same goes for TV. Sometimes you have to let them rot their brains. You wouldn't want them to end up smarter than you anyway; it would upset the power balance. <br />
<br />
7. If you are still wearing your pajamas while shouting at your kids to get dressed, they won't listen to you, even if you are using your best threats.<br />
<br />
8. "You are never going to watch Frozen ever again!" is a very effective threat. Exception: See above.<br />
<br />
9. A kid's tooth can get knocked back up into the gums and it will COME OUT AGAIN and completely recover. You, however, might not. <br />
<br />
10. It doesn't matter what you pack your kids for entertainment on a long haul flight, they will only want to watch the iPad, roam the aisles or fight with each other. Everything else is just a 30 second distraction. On the other hand, you can never have too many snacks and changes of clothing. <br />
<br />
<br />
There's probably more, but I have some other important contributions to make to society. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-49353770102412666962011-11-24T21:28:00.000+00:002011-11-24T21:28:31.237+00:00Snake in a CanDo you remember that gag with the fake can of nuts and the cloth snake with a spring in it? "Hey, want a peanut? BOOIIINNGGG!"<br />
<br />
That was a good one, huh?<br />
<br />
And you know how it was really, really hard to get the stupid snake back into the container and close the lid because every time you'd have almost shoved the whole springy thing back in and maneuvered the lid into place it would shoot back out and the lid would fly off and you'd have to start over?<br />
<br />
Because I am totally experiencing it again. Except instead of a fake can of nuts, it's a stroller, and instead of a springy snake, it's a screaming, flailing, totally freaking out two-year-old. "Hey, want a toddler? What? Why not?!" <br />
<br />
Four times in the last week I've had to strap O into his stroller because he was having a fit. All of them have been the result of completely unreasonable reactions to mundane things like getting on a bus or dressing for school. I think it comes from his desire to control what he can (putting on pants, walking to the bus stop) and learning to be an independent being, and I understand all that. I also realize it's a phase that most kids go through, but wow, can it ever be unpleasant! <br />
<br />
Sometimes I can head him off at the pass; when I know he's tired or if it's no big deal to let him do what he wants, then I'm happy to avoid a scene. But there are other times, like when he wants to eat lollipops at 7am or tries to throw himself into oncoming traffic, that I just can't give in. And when a little kid gets to the screaming, kicking, sobbing, shrieking stage, it's very, very difficult to do anything to stop it.<br />
<br />
At home, you can let it pass. The kitchen floor will take a beating from stomping little feet, and I've learned to mentally block out the noise to a certain extent. But when you're out in public, things get more complicated. I've come up with a few steps to get through it:<br />
<br />
<b>What To Do When Your Small Child Freaks Out In Public</b> <br />
<br />
Step 1- Make calming noises and glance around to see who is looking (everyone.) Stroke child's hair soothingly but keep fingers away from biting mouth.<br />
<br />
Step 2- Explain to the child why it is inappropriate to behave so badly for such a silly reason, ideally giving Back Story to all eavesdropping bystanders. "No, you can't take the 33 bus because we need the R68, and you are not allowed on your own because you are two. And it is unreasonable of you to demand that I repair your broken banana after you threw it on the floor because you didn't want it at first but now you do. Also, you are exhausted for having been up 4 times in the middle of the night, and I am trying to be patient but I too was up 4 times in the middle of night, and I still have to go home and cook dinner."<br />
<br />
Step 3- Try to elicit sympathetic looks from those bystanders who haven't stuck their fingers in their ears from all the screaming.<br />
<br />
Step 4- Apparently pretty much no one wants to listen to a screaming child, so you do what you can to remove yourself and the offending kid from the situation. As I've mentioned, the stroller is handy for quick getaway, but wow, do you ever look like a Terrible Parent when you are trying to strap down a screaming kid who is acting like the fabric on the seat is burning them and you are the devil who is making them sit in the evil, evil thing. Keep up the Sympathetic-Look-Eye-Contact, with an occasional So-Sorry-About-My-Crazy-Child-Smile.<br />
<br />
Step 5- Run. (Yes, the child has to go with you.)<br />
<br />
Step 6- Enlist significant other's help in opening bottle of wine.<br />
<br />
OK, so it might not put me in the Parenting Hall of Fame, but it helps in a pinch. What do you do when your kid throws a tantrum?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-31642396129774251462011-11-22T22:19:00.000+00:002011-11-22T22:19:45.510+00:00Wheeeee!Phwooof...*dusts off blog*<br />
<br />
Does this thing still work?<br />
Testing, testing, one, two...<br />
<br />
Oh hi! How's it going? What's new? Gosh, you look great. Have you lost weight? Because seriously, that outfit looks ah-MAZ-ing on you. No, really.<br />
<br />
Wait, what? Why have I not posted in awhile? Um, well uh, it's just that I'm busy, you know, and um, there was this stuff, and work, and uh, the kids and all, and you know, stuff.<br />
<br />
Did I mention that you look skinny? Hey, look over there, it's Elvis!<br />
<br />
But for reals, I could stand to have a few extra hours in the day. It's 2011, for gods sake, you'd think they could have figured out how to accommodate that. And because England is located somewhere in the Arctic Circle (or something), the sun is setting around 4 p.m., making you feel like it's the middle of night when in fact it's only 8 p.m. Luckily, my kids are super gullible so I continue to pull the whole, "Whoa, have you SEEN how DARK it is?? Must be bed time! Hurry up, pajamas on! Teeth brushed! Get in bed!" at around 6.<br />
<br />
We are smack dab in the middle of potty training O, and it seems to be going pretty well. Or at least it has for last the 24 hours, 10 of which he spent in bed with a diaper on. But hooray for the other 14! Tomorrow should be an interesting test as we venture into public to an event I have for work. It seems risky, but because it's a Mommy Blogger gathering, I figure any accidents will at least make for good material.<br />
<br />
But in all honesty, I'm super happy about the progress. For awhile there he was in this terrible limbo of not wanting to use the potty and also not wanting to go his diaper, so he'd hop around, grabbing his crotch area, and hold it in. Which is ridiculous and also seems very uncomfortable. But I guess two-and-a-half-year-old kids are not known for their reasonable behavior. (See also Exhibit B in which O chucks a screaming fit because I won't let him have candy for breakfast.)<br />
<br />
Thankfully, he seems to be more accepting of the potty as an option, and he LOVES his new underwear. I mean, you should see him strutting around the house wearing it. He has a huge grin on his face and keeps checking his butt out in the mirror - like, "Wow, I look AWESOME without diapers." And every time he goes in the potty, he gives you a huge high five, which I love. There should be more high-fiving after bathroom breaks. Assuming you wash your hands.<br />
<br />
M has also been very encouraging. She likes to provide examples of her superior potty use, offering to show O exactly how it's done and giving visual examples whenever possible. Very helpful. So far we've only tackled the seated position, but at some point we're going to have to teach him how to go while standing (once his junk is higher than the seat, is my guess. Kinda hard to pee in the toilet if you have to aim up.) (Not that I would know for sure, I feel like it's a good guess.) <br />
<br />
So, anyway, that's probably enough about wee for one post.<br />
And welcome back! Have I mentioned how nice your hair looks?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-72500428542959386372011-09-26T20:39:00.000+01:002011-09-26T20:39:38.386+01:00Can't type. Busy doing homework.I have no time! Where is all the time? Who stole my time?<br />
I know I promised to try to post every day for 30 days, and I went right ahead and did not do that at all, and now it's like 847 days later, and I think I'm averaging about 2 posts a month. I blame my children (because they can't read this and it's better than saying that I'm clearly crap at time management.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I've been busy nursing O's head (bumped it again today, still looks like a Klingon, in case anyone is interested), trying to get him to wear something other than a princess dress, and doing M's homework with her. And working. And occasionally doing some shopping. Also, eating cheese.<br />
<br />
Homework is more time consuming that I remember. From what I can recall, homework did not take very long, and at age five it certainly was not necessary five nights a week, which is about what we are doing. There are two whole books to read every week! And words to learn to write! And drawings! It's all very overwhelming. For me. M seems mostly OK with it, except we have a hard time figuring when to fit it in.<br />
<br />
Before school? Sleepy, interferes with <strike>coffee</strike> breakfast, making lunch, getting dressed and O jumping all over us.<br />
Right after school and before a sports lesson? Hmm, interferes with snack time and hard to focus with O jumping all over us.<br />
After sports? Tired and interferes with dinner and O jumping all over us.<br />
After dinner? Even more tired and not concentrating and again with O and the jumping. Also, interferes with being read TO.<br />
Weekend? Ugh. And more O jumping. <br />
<br />
We'll get there, possibly once O goes to college.<br />
<br />
We are still in that hard stage where we still have to sit down and do M's homework WITH her. Once she gets older, she can do it on her own, but right now we have to do all the reading and writing together. I'm sure it gets better, and if you know any differently, keep it to yourself.<br />
<br />
Off to finish dinner. For some reason, I decided lamb roast and celery root gratin was a good idea on a Monday, after a day of work/homework/etc. See above re: time management skills. It's a good thing I'm helping Maya with all her learning; she's obviously going to be really smart.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-90294764648871566062011-09-14T12:54:00.001+01:002011-09-14T19:06:47.666+01:00Who Needs Doctors When There's the Internet?Well, hello.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN4nCncbEut76vc_rfeLiBgbtimz3cFJDf4Ez_c_tvL8z9yuBxxWH28_Be__AR4906fLj00KLsSeVCNgXXWIMno1IEoyc9o6TepZoqBRlKbQkYqmzoFkkI14CjASMI4GMO7zqpO6Qo63H/s1600/klingon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN4nCncbEut76vc_rfeLiBgbtimz3cFJDf4Ez_c_tvL8z9yuBxxWH28_Be__AR4906fLj00KLsSeVCNgXXWIMno1IEoyc9o6TepZoqBRlKbQkYqmzoFkkI14CjASMI4GMO7zqpO6Qo63H/s1600/klingon.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
What? Oh, that's just a photo of my son, O.<br />
<br />
See, he bumps his forehead a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean ALL THE TIME and IN THE EXACT SAME SPOT. Jumping down the stairs, falling off sofas, playing Ring Around the Rosies, doing somersaults, bungee jumping, skydiving, whatever. So now there seems to be some sort of permanent lump on the right side, and I just feel better about the whole thing if I can dress him up in an alien costume. When he lets me take off his favorite pink princess dress and wings, that is. So, actually, it's more like<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQF2bbyRK5qL3isJbs4tx-LHj95dj-nSqX8hhAr9_ij_ZQV9SHGX7cxYkNMBCK1UQln8gMfCFYFL5o-KEqTNDmE_tuf4wHaZfdehndWSOoK5jO65Mankmct0Yaj1O2fRgkeIKYOdQtj-B/s1600/klingon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQF2bbyRK5qL3isJbs4tx-LHj95dj-nSqX8hhAr9_ij_ZQV9SHGX7cxYkNMBCK1UQln8gMfCFYFL5o-KEqTNDmE_tuf4wHaZfdehndWSOoK5jO65Mankmct0Yaj1O2fRgkeIKYOdQtj-B/s1600/klingon2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
After much Googling, I took him to the doctor to express my worries about permanent dis-figuration, but she explained to me that he's two-and-a-half and short of putting him in a helmet and/or strapping him into the stroller every day all day, there's pretty much nothing you can do. Some kids just fall over a lot and tend to hurt themselves in the same places. Luckily the forehead is a pretty strong area, so give him some ibuprofen, ice it, and try not to spend so much time on the internet being a crazy person.<br />
<br />
OK. Point taken.<br />
(*Goes home and googles "clumsy kid relation to brain damage?*)<br />
<br />
The doctor actually might have an excellent point about the Googling thing. I can really get myself ramped up looking up various childhood illness symptoms and linking them to the most horrible diseases on earth. Sniffles? Must be dangue fever! Sore belly? Definitely cancer. I know I'm being unreasonable when I do it, but it's really hard to stop myself.<br />
<br />
I just feel like I might be more prepared if I have all the information. ALL OF IT. Even if it's irrelevant and taken out of context. Even if I have no medical training! Even I can't even spell dangue! (I mean dEngue! See, the internet DOES know things!) I'm trying to be better about it, but in asking the most innocent questions (How much Tylenol to give to a 13 kilo child?) you can get easily sidetracked by some horrible segue (Tylenol linked to death!). Recently, I've found it better to just call the doctor or make a quick appointment, so I can head myself off at the pass.<br />
<br />
I felt better about the forehead situation after our visit, and we've started on the ibuprofen. Also in the interest of reducing head injuries, we made the bold move of removing the sides of his crib, which, in all its IKEA brilliance, turns into a cute toddler bed (assuming you can find the instructions, your allen key and some deeply buried reserves of patience). Now he can get in and out without diving headfirst from three feet off the ground. <br />
<br />
I was worried he'd start getting up in the middle of the night, but so far he's stayed in bed, only coming in to our room around 6:30 a.m. It's probably because he's a good sleeper - that or he's scared of the little nighttime trolls living under his bed who like to bite the toes of boys getting up when it's still dark out.<br />
<br />
Man, kids are so gullible!<br />
<br />
Oh, don't worry, I'm just kidding. Trolls could give him nightmares! I actually said it was alligators. <br />
<br />
In any case, it's been an okay transition so far. One major developmental thing down, only 54720 more to go (including potty training, getting rid of the pacifier, and learning to not shut drawers on your own fingers.)<br />
<br />
Next time - How I tell M that TV will rot your brain and make it leak out of your ears unless she turns it off right NOW.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-67251061507100585322011-09-06T18:07:00.000+01:002011-09-06T18:07:33.361+01:00Sexism. Or, How I Alienate The Men Reading This BlogDeparting a little bit from my normal variety of post, I wanted to share a link to a blog I follow called Mom-101: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mom-101.com/2011/09/sexism-is-complicated.html">http://www.mom-101.com/2011/09/sexism-is-complicated.html</a><br />
<br />
She posted this a few days ago, and I've been putting off talking about it because I wasn't sure it fit in here, and I'm probably going to have to use my brain to type this post instead of writing children dumb make head hurt probably drink wine talk about poop. <br />
<br />
So please go read it and then come back.<br />
<br />
Hello, again. Doesn't she make an excellent point? <br />
<br />
Honestly, I don't very often think about "sexism" as a concept or even particularly notice it in my daily life, not because it isn't there, but because it's subtle. As Mom-101 puts it:<br />
<br />
<i>Sexism is pervasive. It creeps into our daughter’s lives in stealthy ways, before they’re able to identify it and refute it. Before they’re able to understand irony. Before they’re able to separate out the messages we tell them at home from the ones they see on t-shirts or posters on the subway. Man, if only they were one and the same.</i><br />
<br />
After reading that post, I brought up the subject with Husband. Let me say right now, that it would be a hard to find a more supportive, open-minded, liberal guy. He couldn't care less that his son dresses frequently in a hot pink sequin gown and at work has hired women in part time roles over full-time candidates because they were the best people for the job. He is the last person you could accuse of sexism. <br />
<br />
When I told him about the post, I talked about it in terms of my job search and how difficult it was to find a role with the flexibility I want. I reminded him that it was mostly women who were looking for a part-time position (in 2006 in the UK 38% of women with dependent children worked part time compared with only 4% of men with dependent children.) Women are disproportionately affected by people not wanting to hire on a part time or flexible basis, by the fact that they also pay those part time workers less (never mind that the gender pay gap in the UK is already one of the highest in Europe, with women who work full time earning 17% less per hour than men.)<br />
<br />
<i>Whoa, whoa, whoa</i>, he said. <i>This has nothing to do with women, and you are confusing two totally different things. It's simply not economical for companies to hire on a part time basis. Rightly or wrongly, it's a business decision; it just happens to impact women more.</i><br />
<br />
Which I understand. But I disagree. While it's not as obvious as my UK driving instructor telling me that I should pass my test based on the tightness of my jeans (true story), it's sexism none the less. The playground near my house is FILLED with smart, educated, motivated women (yes, mostly women) who are staying home to look after their kids. They probably all have different reasons, and I know some of them choose to be with their babies, but I would put money on the fact that quite a few are there because they couldn't find a decent paying (i.e. earns more than childcare costs), flexible role that is challenging and interesting and as good as the things they were doing full time before they had kids.<br />
<br />
There are ways to economically hire people part time (job share comes to mind) and certainly all the women I've spoken with are incredibly dedicated and would make great employees. So why don't we fight more to do something about it? Why do we continue to accept this? <br />
<br />
I think it has something to do with the fact that this is "the way that it is." It fits really nicely into the stereotypes we all accept and live with. We don't really think of it in the context of sexism and subtly teach our daughters it, like I'm doing right now as I stay home while Daddy works. It's easily overlooked, but as Mom101 put it, while one little thing like a t-shirt or a part time job might not be the end of the world, it's symptomatic of a larger problem, and I just wanted to call that out.<br />
<br />
*Steps off soapbox* <br />
<br />
Stats are from the Women's Resource Center: <a href="http://www.wrc.org.uk/resources/facts_and_statistics_on_womens_inequality_in_the_uk.aspx">http://www.wrc.org.uk/resources/facts_and_statistics_on_womens_inequality_in_the_uk.aspx</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-39510979248434649772011-08-30T19:10:00.000+01:002011-08-30T19:10:13.029+01:00LOUDOn the bright side, we have hot water! People are clean! On the other, less bright, possibly very dark side, we also have a crazy toddler.<br />
<br />
One who insists on jumping off furniture even though you have explained MANY TIMES that that is not allowed and in fact is VERY DANGEROUS. One who runs at top speed through any store you allow him in and who screams bloody murder when you pick him up because you decided that maybe the other patrons don't appreciate being rammed by a 2-year-old. One who also screams (I think there's a theme here) when he sees spiders, because they are scary, but who has no fear of running into oncoming traffic. Seriously, people, this kid is loud.<br />
<br />
OK, I know there are some of you who are laughing right now and going "I wonder where he got THAT from?! Chortle, chortle" but I swear he's louder than me. STOP LAUGHING. IT'S TRUE. (I am not shouting, I'm just using the CAPS for emphasis.) (I SAID, STOP LAUGHING!) <br />
<br />
Besides the loud, he also seems to be developing a cheeky streak. Like, doing exactly what we've told him not to do and then looking at us and smirking. And short of taping him to the naughty step, I am having a hard time figuring out how to discipline him. He doesn't seem to respond well to threats of loss of privileges (probably because he doesn't really understand consequences yet) and will just sit and scream his head off when being made to do something he doesn't want to do. OK in the house, less OK in public.<br />
<br />
So, suggestions are welcome. Have you had good results with sending kids away to Siberia? How about just wearing earphones all the time with the music turned up all the way and saying, "La la laaa I can't heeeaaar yoooouuu"? Tell me about it! I'm all ears. <br />
<br />
On another bright side, M is being really sweet (for the most part) (when she isn't egging on O) (ok, so maybe it's sweet in relation to O) and is very much looking forward to school starting next week. Year One! So big! We are very impressed at her ability to grow. We keep making really profound statements like, "Wow! She's getting so big." and "I can't believe how OLD she is. Five and a half!" If we start talking like this within earshot, please feel free to look at us like we are idiots.<br />
<br />
But there seems to come a phase where you realize that your kid is not "little" anymore and you can glimpse the older child they are going to be. They look taller and more kid-like and have so many surprising opinions. It's amazing. She's so big! (God, I can't stop. Sorry.)<br />
<br />
Next time: Our newly recovered sofa and how it maybe, sort of vaguely looks like a shiny cheap suit. I'm sure it will get better when I'm more used to it! Oh please let it get better. Throw cushions will help.<br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-15664944818272635882011-08-28T22:51:00.000+01:002011-08-28T22:51:18.991+01:00Call Me MonicaAll day long I've been waiting for something really exciting to happen to post about, but so far the choices are:<br />
<br />
1) Woke up and had coffee and decided that I really prefer fresh milk over UHT<br />
2) Went to the grocery store and bought chicken, fresh milk and some socks (ok, fine, and wine)<br />
3) Made dinner<br />
<br />
I'm just trying to decide which one will provide the best narrative and/or life lesson.<br />
<br />
This is why people make fun of blogs. Because seriously, NO ONE GIVES A RATS' ASS WHETHER I LIKE UHT MILK OR FRESH. And apparently the grocery store is not known as a great source of life lessons. All very hard to believe.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow will be much more exciting, mostly for the plumber's visit and the fact (oh god, please let it be a fact) that we will have hot water again. The hot water heater quit on us the day we arrived, so we've been washing dishes with freezing water and <strike>not showering</strike> <strike>taking cold showers</strike> ok fine not showering. You should come visit. Not only do we have pretty floral velour couches but we also smell! We head back to England on Tuesday, so I'll try to squeak in a shower before we get back. <br />
<br />
Only a couple more days of vacation bliss, and then it's back to reality and work. Did I mention I have a job? Well, a "job." I'm not sure whether it counts yet or not because....ahem...I'm an intern. It's a temporary and part-time role to get some experience in another industry, and so far, so good. I just have to get over the mental hurdle of being in a job that I usually associate with recent college grads. Maybe that's the way around it; maybe I'll just pretend to be 22. Ignore my wrinkles and jaded demeanor! I'm young and carefree and totally can't remember a time when there weren't cell phones. Text me! Rock on! (Shit - do young people say that?) <br />
<br />
I actually love the company and the other people working there, and it's a part time gig, so it fits perfectly into my parent life. Because this is a public space, I won't spend too much time discussing it, but I think it's a good fit for my current situation and I'm excited to be involved in something new. I'm also really happy to being doing something that doesn't involve wiping noses and cooking fish fingers. Wait. Unless they can make interns do that. Can they? Crap. I guess it's ok as long as there are no dirty diapers. <br />
<br />
M actually congratulated me on getting a job. I think her exact words were, "Good job, Mummy!" She stopped just short of patting me on the head. <br />
<br />
OK, off to bed. We 22 year olds need our beauty sleep. <br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-68679503663930072972011-08-27T16:45:00.000+01:002011-08-27T16:45:40.256+01:00TGIF!It's Friday, right? Tell me it's Friday, and I didn't already break my promise of "posting every day<i>" after only one day</i>. Because that would be pathetic. So, Happy Friday, everyone! TGIF! <br />
<br />
You can also forget what I said about potty training, because we are not doing that either this weekend. I made some excuse to myself about it being better to try that kind of thing at home, and isn't this a vacation weekend, and after all I bet O is just not ready for it, and something about the alignment of planets. So, never mind, no potty training. <br />
<br />
In fact, maybe I'll just sit around this weekend and eat cheese. And we are in Normandy again, which is perfect for cheese. And wine. We are excellent parents.<br />
<br />
The highlight of my day has been the purchase of a new mattress for the guest room here. When we bought the property, the former owners very sweetly threw in most of the furniture as part of the deal - including, but not limited to, a floral velour sofa with matching arm chairs, a lamp with tassels, a pink fluffy bathroom mat and several large framed needle-points of scenes of Venice. They also left us a sweater that Monsieur used to wear to trim the hedges in, just in case. Husband hasn't worn it. <br />
<br />
It was fantastic to be able to use the house right away, but little by little I've wanted to replace things, and we only just got around to getting rid of the ancient mattress upstairs. Not that it was in bad shape or gross or anything (I actually don't think it ever was used), but it was more that there are probably several museums around that have requested to use it in a display. Also, I slept on it last night and that thing was really effing uncomfortable. Apologies to all former guests. Lucky for everyone we still have the pretty sofa and matching chairs. <br />
<br />
We also finally got around to changing our French bank account details from the address in Paris. Where we lived in 2007. The biggest issue has been that France is approximately 10 years behind the rest of the world when it comes to the magic of the internet and any changes to your account have to be done IN PERSON and AT YOUR ORIGINAL BRANCH. We had a meeting today with lovely lady who explained that she could help us with everything just as soon as we fax her some proof of address, and by the way, would we be interested in setting up this new service they have available called "email?" She, personally, was unfamiliar with it, but would soon be attending a technology training course. Until then, fax please.<br />
<br />
See you tomorrow! That's Saturday, right? Great. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-33311141138101575792011-08-25T23:26:00.001+01:002011-08-25T23:26:43.578+01:00Happy! Sad. Happy! Sad. Happy! Sad.Man, living with a two-and-a-half year old is like having someone with multiple personality disorder in the house, only you can't medicate them. At the moment, O changes moods so fast I think I'm getting whiplash. One second he's happy and laughing and playing nicely with his sister, and then you make him stop to eat dinner and <i>oh my god now you have incurred his wrath</i>. But it's ok! Because if you give him milk, he'll be quiet again! Unless, whoops, you put on the wrong television channel and now all is WOE AND WHY WOULD YOU RUIN HIS LIFE LIKE THAT? But don't worry, soon he needs to brush his teeth, which he likes! Unless you try to help him and then he gets REALLY ANNOYED. <br />
<br />
It's exhausting.<br />
<br />
Recently it's been particularly bad, as we've been walking on eggshells with him while the kids adjust to being back from vacation. Our time in the US was fantastic: we went to my brother's beautiful wedding (where the kids were flower girl and ring bearer), and O and M were constantly entertained by grandparents and other extended family and friends, enjoyed frequent trips to the pool and beach, and ate ice cream with almost every meal.<br />
<br />
Now it's back to the grind of the local playgrounds, where there's no pool and they only get ice cream <i>sometimes</i>. What a drag. I think that for their next getaway, we'll be sending them to the coal mines. I know it doesn't sound like fun, but imagine how happy they'll be when they get home! I think I'm onto something. <br />
<br />
While M is pretty flexible (and old enough to be mostly reasonable), O has trouble adjusting to new things and is more, um, vocal about his displeasure. I would create some sort of sound track to share with you, but I don't think your computer speakers could handle it. As I've mentioned, he likes his routine and is not shy about letting you know when you screw it up. <br />
<br />
Besides coming home from vacation, we are also trying to cut out his pacifier, start potty training, and are thinking of moving him from a crib to a real bed. This is possibly crazy, but it's also the age when you are "supposed" to do all this stuff, or so everyone helpfully tells me. I don't really remember it being a big deal with M, but I get the feeling that O might be less thrilled.<br />
<br />
So far, all we've made him do is leave his pacifier in his bed when he wakes up, but he hoowwwls in protest every. single. morning, as though it's a new and particularly cruel form of torture. This weekend, we have our first try at potty training to look forward to, and I haven't even begun to think about the bed situation. I don't think I can take it. He might have to stay there another few years or so until we can summon up the energy to deal with him being free to roam in the middle of the night. And we'll see how the potty training goes. This might be my least favorite part of parenting, and it's also a bank holiday weekend. Maybe I should put it off for a little longer.<br />
<br />
Ok, so we're in good shape! Just the pacifier to deal with! Excellent. Thanks for the talk. Isn't Age Two a delight? That must be why they call it The Delightful Twos. That's right, isn't it? <br />
<br />
Other than that, summer is flying by. It's almost September. And school! Sweet, sweet, school. Oh, how I've missed you. It's all new pencils and binders and backpacks and kids in class from 9 til 3, and for me, the time of year that I like to make new starts (more so than January, really). I'm resolving to be present on the blog and am going to try to post every day for the next month.<br />
<br />
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!<br />
<br />
No seriously. Especially now that I've said it out loud and hit the "publish post" button. No going back on my word. I reserve lying for when I'm trying to get the kids to do stuff.<br />
<br />
See you tomorrow. <br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-46679315299993820692011-07-26T08:27:00.000+01:002011-07-26T08:27:14.871+01:00Over and over and over and overSummer has begun. At least that's what the school calendar is telling me. I wouldn't really know for sure because I'm still wearing jeans and sweaters and carrying an umbrella in my purse, but my Facebook news stream is filled with Americans complaining about something called "heat" and posting pictures of themselves in these funny short pants with no lower leg portion. And weirdly, all their tops don't seem to have sleeves.<br />
<br />
We are finishing up a long weekend in Normandy before heading back to the UK. It may only be 65 degrees F but Husband, M and O spent Sunday splashing around the beach with a friend, getting soaked by waves and proving that hypothermia can be fun, dammit. I was camped on the rocks, properly dressed (see jeans and sweater, above) and holding firmly to my No Swimming Until The Air Temp Is Over 90F policy. Apparently, this makes me a party pooper, but I just laugh and wave my fingers at them, enjoying the fact that I still have feeling in my extremities. At some point, we are going to sit down and have a family discussion about how "sunny" and "warm" are not one and the same. <br />
<br />
In another five days we head to the US for vacation. I'm really looking forward to it with the exception of the long flight on my own with two kids and the jet lag. Jet lag sometimes messes with routine, and if there's one thing O likes, it's his routine: <br />
<br />
Wake up.<br />
Shout from bed that he wants to "Geeeeet dooooowwwwn!"<br />
Repeat until an adult wakes up and comes in to open curtain. <br />
Get out of bed, throwing all pacifiers back in because they are not allowed downstairs except in cases of emergency. (Don't get me started. I know he needs to quit but he's a total pacifier junky, and there is no chance in hell I'm going to deal with withdrawal symptoms during this vacation. I hate to admit this, but he can scream longer than I can hold out.) (Obviously this is not a sore subject.) <br />
Get adult to take him downstairs for "Miiiiiiilk!"<br />
Sit in the same spot on the couch, preferably next to M. ADULT SHOULD NOT EVEN THINK OF TRYING TO SIT NEXT TO HIM BUT SHOULD INSTEAD BE GETTING MIIIILK.<br />
Ask to watch Nemo.<br />
Get regular TV instead.<br />
Receive milk in the yellow cup. Not the blue one. THE YELLOW ONE. <br />
Watch 15 minutes of dumb regular TV before getting bored and demanding "Beeeebix!"<br />
If there is no Weetabix in France or the US or wherever you are, you must negotiate until you come to terms. Terms being Cheerios ideally.<br />
Eat Cheerios out of the Mickey Mouse bowl. Not the farm animal one. THE MICKEY MOUSE ONE.<br />
Yell "Finished!"<br />
Start day.<br />
<br />
I like my morning routine as well, but that pretty much consists of having coffee, The End. Whether I get that coffee in a blue cup or a yellow cup is irrelevant. Sometimes I make it, sometimes Husband makes it, sometimes I sit at the table, sometimes in the armchair (though NEVER ON THE COUCH NEXT TO O) but kids are all about doing the exact same things over and over and over. And then again. Sometimes we like to mess with them, because when people are that punctilious, it's too easy. And fun:<br />
<br />
<i>So, M, you want eggs for breakfast?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Noooo! A bagel! You know I like bagels! </i><br />
<br />
<i>Oh right, a bagel. Toasted, right? </i><br />
<br />
<i>Noooo! Don't toast it! </i><br />
<br />
<i>Oh yeah, that's right. Not toasted. With peanut butter. </i><br />
<br />
<i>JAM. AND CREAM CHEESE. Cut up into 8 pieces.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Cut up into 6 pieces, right. </i><br />
<br />
<i>8 PIECES!!!!</i><br />
<br />
As far as O is concerned, <i>Tiddler</i> could be the only book in our house. M would wear the twirly flowery party dress every day. Dinner would always be pasta and peas. <br />
<br />
Obviously they find it comforting, and when we travel we try to keep things as consistent as possible and the messing around to a minimum. We bring the milk cups (though not the cereal bowls), sit them in the same spots on the couch (even if it's a different couch), and have the same conversation about Weetabix. When it's time to go to sleep at night, we sing the same songs (Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for O, Tender Shepherd for M) and go through the same hand-holding, no-door-shutting routine. <br />
<br />
Jet lag can make things more difficult, with the kids (and sometimes us) waking up at crazy hours and a lack of sleep making them more sensitive than usual. On those days joking about eggs can end in tears. Luckily, we'll have enough time in the States to get into our regular routine and enjoy the vacation. I hear it's summer over there.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-55587259964474724342011-07-20T08:22:00.000+01:002011-07-20T08:22:07.441+01:00Quiz MeWell. I'm back. It's been exam cramming central here for the past few weeks, and rightly so. I cannot remember the last time I took a real test, and in the space of three weeks I've had to take two that really count. So I've been spending all my free time <strike>procrastinating</strike> <strike>drinking wine</strike> studying. <br />
<br />
Test 1: Driving Theory -<br />
<br />
Does anyone remember Drivers Ed? No? Me neither. For some reason, all I retained from two weeks of classes in high school was the part about "velocitation," or "the phenomenon caused by driving for long periods at high speeds." You'll have been in the car on a road trip, driving at 80 for the last eight hours, and when you exit the highway onto a smaller road you have a tendency to drive at about 60 mph, and it feels like 10. Sadly, this is the one piece of driving knowledge that does not come in handy here. Because if you drive for a long period of time at high speed you will end up in an ocean.<br />
<br />
So needless to say, I had to prepare a little to take the UK Driving Theory test. It includes such common sense questions as:<br />
<br />
"When approaching a zebra crossing where there is a child in a wheelchair attempting to cross, do you A) accelerate and swerve around them, B) honk your horn and use your bumper to nudge them to the other side, or C) slow down and prepare to stop?"<br />
(The answer is B. No wait, I mean C.)<br />
<br />
But it also asks stuff that involves memorization:<br />
<br />
"If it's freezing and rainy and you are traveling at 60 mph in a car with a camping caravan attached, how many metres stopping distance do you need to allow?"<br />
(The answer is 146. But the real question is, who are these idiots who are going camping in the freezing rain? And the answer to <i>that</i> is: English people, in summer.)<br />
<br />
There is also a part of the test called "Hazard Perception." You view a series of videos of different road scenes taken from the point of view of the driver, and you are asked to click the mouse when you see a hazard. But be warned! If you click too soon, it won't count. And if you click too late, it also won't count. And if you click too much, you score an automatic zero. So it's not so much a test of "perceiving hazards" as it is one of "controlling neurotic behavior." One of mine showed a horse that dances out into the middle of a country lane in front of the vehicle. <i>Aha! A Hazard!</i> Click. <i>Wait, did I do that too soon? </i>Click. <i>Crap. Now I might be too late.</i> Click. Click. <b>You clicked too many times and scored a zero for this clip.</b> <i>Fuck</i>. <br />
<br />
Thankfully I managed to get it together enough to squeak by with a Pass. So next it was on to....<br />
<br />
Test Two: Life in the UK<br />
<br />
This is an exam designed to test your knowledge of....Life in the UK. This includes:<br />
<br />
Population<br />
The Changing Role of Women<br />
The Regions of Britain<br />
Migration to Britain<br />
Customs and Traditions<br />
How the United Kingdom is Governed<br />
<br />
And more. <br />
<br />
Now. I have been living here for two years and am married to an British citizen. I have navigated the school system so far and have been a part of a house buying process. I speak fluent English. (Or American. Whatever.) And after almost eight years across the pond, I consider myself fairly educated about European living. But if I had not bought all the study materials and spent some quality time taking practice tests, I would be on a boat back to Washington.<br />
<br />
Seriously, that test was not easy. And I'm pretty sure that if they did a pop quiz for current UK citizens you would find a lot of people failing. A quango? Nope, no clue. The year Guy Fawkes did his blowing up Parliament thing? Sorry. The percent of people who own homes in the UK? Couldn't tell you.<br />
<br />
Now, I get the importance of demonstrating a good understanding of the country you wish to permanently reside in, but this seems like it might be taking it a little far, particularly for people whose English isn't quite fluent. I sat and waited for my results with butterflies in my stomach, convinced I hadn't passed (probably because of all the stupid questions about the various European regulatory bodies.) Luckily, I again squeaked by. At least it's a pass/no-pass system and not based on Grades, because I think I must be a full-on D student at the moment. Don't tell my parents. <br />
<br />
Both these tests required that you memorize a lot of information and spit it back out. And in my case, forget it immediately afterward. There is no chance I can both care for my children, remembering to do homework/change diapers/bring in PE kit, AND retain the stopping distances/population percentages, so I spent both mornings before the exams ignoring my kids and frantically memorizing shit before heading into the tests with a panicky look in my eye. Like "Can we please get this business started because I have a very limited time before all these useful facts start leaking out of my brain OMG HURRY UP LET'S GO ALREADY I HAVE TO GET HOME AND MAKE A BEE COSTUME." <br />
<br />
Now I can focus on the upcoming Practical Driving exam (Wait, you want me to drive on the LEFT?! HAHAHAHA!) (Husband says not to make that joke) and my Indefinite Leave to Remain visa interview. Husband and I will be going in together to prove that we are real, married couple, armed with various important pieces of paperwork and a video of us bickering. As long as they don't ask me what the difference is between the European Council and the European Parliament, I'll be fine. Maybe I can impress them with my knowledge of velocitation. The UK is lucky to have me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-88662712949880589952011-06-19T20:39:00.002+01:002011-07-21T15:03:23.380+01:00Hey, Other Parent, How YOU Doin'?Happy Father's Day! Husband, did you hear me? I <i>said</i>, HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!! Hello? Hel...Oh, that's right. You're away for the weekend with your mates. <br />
<br />
Actually, we've never done much beyond cards for these Hallmark holidays so he's not missing out on anything special except, of course, <i>those precious moments of childhood that are so fleeting</i>. EXCEPT THAT. I mean, I doubt that all that motorcycle-riding-countryside-visiting-wine-drinking-with-friends will be able to make up for it. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's pining away for our company. PINING AWAY. If he's lucky, we may still give him the cards.<br />
<br />
Only 24 hours to go until he gets home. Not that anyone is keeping track. The kids and I have done all the requisite weekend activities: swim lessons, soccer lessons, visited parks, had friends round, gone to friends' houses, run errands, eaten pizza/sausages/cake/lollipops and not bathed. (I know. We are gross.) Sadly, our Sunday afternoon play date was cancelled (because we smell?), but it looks like rain and tomorrow we go back to the weekly routine.<br />
<br />
I don't actually find solo parenting as difficult as I find it lonely. It's easy enough to get kids fed and wrangled onto buses to the pool and all, but I miss having someone adult to talk to in the down times. Don't get me wrong, M and O are great to be with and obviously I enjoy all the precious and fleeting childhood moments, yada yada, but by 6 p.m. I would like to talk to someone who can maintain an actual dialogue. And ideally knows how to operate a Screwpull. (THAT OPENS WINE. You guys should really get your minds out of the gutter.) When I'm on my own, once the kids are in bed the house is super quiet, and I usually end up eating something involving cheese and watching old episodes of Mediumzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...Oops, sorry, I put myself to sleep just now. But you get the picture. <br />
<br />
The alone time is also one of one of the hardest parts of staying home with the kids. We live in a booming metropolis and there are tons of stay-at-home-moms in my neighborhood, but while I see quite a few other adults during the day, it's often doing parallel activities <i>alongside</i> them as opposed to really engaging <i>with</i> them. Conversations happen in snippets while you pick up the kids at school or push them on the swings, and relationships are frequently based on the mutual fact that you have children. Trying to have a normal conversation (let alone develop deeper friendships) is really difficult if you have to sprint away every 45 seconds to keep your kid from death by jungle gym. <br />
<br />
Luckily, I talk reallyreallyfast.<br />
<br />
<i>Hi! My name is Caroline. This is M and O and we are looking for some friends. We come from America and lived in France and love to eat fish fingers and peas and doing drawing and playing in the garden and we are on our own this weekend and are starting to get bored so you do want to come over and hang out? We promise to shower. </i><br />
<br />
In all fairness, I've met some really great people since moving here, particularly via M's school. But it doesn't change the fact that when you are all home during the day, you have little kids to look after and not as nearly as much time as you'd like for leisurely coffees. It's more like sip of coffee, tell your kids to stop hitting each other, sip of coffee, please don't climb on that table, sip of coffee, why don't you guys share the ball, sip of coffee, I think I see poop coming out the top of that diaper. Not that work is this fabulous magical place with meaningful adult conversations and endless cups of coffee (ok, fine, there is a lot of coffee), but I definitely remember being able to start whole sentences and then actually finishing them. Without a single reference to poop. Mostly.<br />
<br />
So, yes. If Husband could hurry up and get home, that would be great. I'm getting tired of cheese and running out of episodes of Medium to watch. Also, I think all the pick up lines might be starting to scare the other parents on the playground. <br />
<br />
<i>Side note: I just found myself shouting at O not to do "roly-polys" (somersaults) because he "might break his neck." Because that's likely, right? </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-77529159734880737812011-06-14T20:42:00.000+01:002011-06-14T20:42:11.852+01:00Mum's the WordO just came up behind me as I sat quietly down to use the computer and ripped a band-aid off the back of my ankle. "Hurting, mummy?" "Um, yes, O. It is now. Thanks." <br />
<br />
I <i>was</i> sitting down to type something about kids extra-curricular activities and how the US and UK differ, but that's going to have to keep. I just completely distracted myself by typing the word "mummy." With a U. Apparently, that's me. And while I am used to hearing it from the kids, I still have a hard time writing it out without conjuring up Scooby-Doo-style images of goofy dead guys wrapped in toilet paper. (Hey, it's actually old Professor Smith!)<br />
<br />
M used to speak with a Brooklyn accent, but she switched to an English one within 3 months of our move here and quickly transition from Mommy to Mummy, probably from hearing all her nursery friends and having it reinforced by Husband. She can still imitate some of the American sounds with other words, but there is really no hope for O, who cannot pronounce the letter "R" to save his life. Hurting is Huhting. Water is watah. Horse is Hoss. Fork is...um, you get the picture.<br />
<br />
For the most part, I don't really notice their accents. But when I'm around other Americans or we travel back home (home?), it strikes me anew. They sound so English! Quick, somebody feed them some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Talk about <i>sidewalks</i> and <i>pants</i>! Play the American national anthem! Teach them about baseball! (God, someone else better do the baseball thing because I have no clue. All I know is that there is something called an RBI, thank you NY Times crossword. And beer. And hotdogs.)<br />
<br />
And the thing is, they <i>are</i> English. Mostly. M actually told me that she "likes the rain" MORE THAN SHE LIKES THE SUN. Since we don't have any plans to move, I wonder how much of a connection they are going to feel with America. Will it feel at all like home? Or maybe a second home? Or perhaps it will just be that place they go for vacations. I love our life here, but I also loved growing up in the US and wish they could experience some of that as well. How else will they realize that dessert does not have to include dried fruit?<br />
<br />
Waaaahhhh!<br />
Sniff.<br />
<br />
Ok, I'm fine now. I just realized I have some work to do planning my 4th of July BBQ (to be held July 3rd since they are too inconsiderate to give everyone the following day off.) That's when I'm going to start the indoctrination. "Listen here, children. The 4th of July is a Very Important Holiday. That's the day when MOmmy's country told Daddy's country to fork off. We like to celebrate it with potato salad. Dig in."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-76634187618535651582011-06-07T15:05:00.002+01:002011-06-08T10:40:12.291+01:00Get in LineYesterday we went to the American Embassy in London to renew M's passport. Despite a seemingly organized process which requires you to book an appointment in advance, we spent over an hour standing in the pouring rain, waiting to get through security.<br />
<br />
I'd like to think that this was some indication of how top-notch secure the building was, but I'm pretty sure that inefficiency was to blame. They were only letting one family (or person) in at a time, and there was no one explaining what they wanted us to do (take out all our electronics, put them in plastic bags and check them all in, to be picked up on leaving.) So you end up fumbling around in the base of your purse for that USB key you forgot you had while 25 people standing out in the rain glare at you.<br />
<br />
They should make it like airport security, because at this stage we all know what to expect. Shoes off. Coat off. Bulky sweater off. Laptop out. Belt, earrings, necklace, and watch off. Liquids in bags on top. Frankly, by the time I'm anywhere near the scanners, I'm half naked and waving my passport and boarding pass at anyone who glances my way. Even O and M know the drill. Last time we were traveling, M got really mad because they weren't making her take her shoes off. Like "What is the deal with these people? Don't they know it's AIRPORT SECURITY? These Crocs need to be SCANNED!"<br />
<br />
As you wait outside, miserable and freezing cold (it's the English "summer", so about 62 degrees and raining. Come visit!) you end up watching all the newcomers try to go directly in through security. See, everyone there has an "appointment" for a certain "time" so we all arrive thinking that the huge line we are seeing could not possibly be meant for us. How could it? We are Americans with Appointments! I need to be inside at 8:30! Those other suckers should have read the website.<br />
<br />
So you glance around, looking at your dripping Appointment paper and head straight for the security team or <strike>the wet dude with hunched shoulders and folder in a plastic bag</strike> information desk and explain that you need to go inside to renew your passport or whatever.<br />
<br />
American: I'm an American. I have an Appointment <br />
Wet Official: You're going to need to stand in that line there.<br />
A: But I have an Appointment. For 8:30.<br />
WO: Yeah. You need to get in line.<br />
A: But it says 8:30 right here. Do you see that smudge?<br />
WO: Mmhmm. Still, you'll have to wait.<br />
A: Are you sure? Because I have an APPOINTMENT.<br />
WO: Yes, you need to wait.<br />
A:<i> Shoulders slump. Heads for line.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes, people will go through this song and dance two or three times. They keep leaving the line to check on their Appointments while the rest of us stand there and glare angrily at the couple in security who brought their stroller loaded with enough stuff to camp out for a week. (I was being smug because we left O home with a babysitter. Had he been with us, it would have been me leaving the line. "Seriously, you better let me through for my Appointment or else I'm leaving this wet and screaming two-year-old at security with you.")<br />
<br />
I think it's that, generally speaking, Americans don't like to assume that the line is for them, and we will verify that we really do have to wait before grudgingly and complainingly joining it. (As compared to the the Brits, who will cheerfully stand in any queue they see. <i>Look, a queue! Jolly good. Pity about the rain but mustn't grumble! After all, I think I see a bit of blue up there! (pointing at a storm cloud.) </i>It's charming.)<br />
<br />
All in all, we were outside for a little over an hour. It wasn't so, so terrible, because we amused ourselves with the Expat Umbrella Game while we waited. No joke, pretty much every single person in line was holding an umbrella with a company or school logo on it. Like "Welcome to your new job in England. Here is your umbrella. You're going to need it." And they were right.<br />
<br />
Now we are waiting on M's new passport, and I'm only going to have to go through this fun process a couple more times this year when I renew my own passport and get my residency visa. Next time, I'll be sure to head straight for the line.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-42880153937954591712011-06-04T07:31:00.000+01:002011-06-04T07:31:35.909+01:00Out to LunchWe took a day trip to an actual, sandy beach this holiday (many of the local Norman beaches are stony), and the kids had a ball building small, crumbly sand castles, digging holes, and in O's case, shoving sand into every nook and cranny possible, including his diaper, pockets, ears and my iPhone case. <br />
<br />
In the evening back at home, our faces still glowing from the wind and bright sunshine, Husband and I were reminiscing about the fabulous time we'd had. <br />
<br />
Me: Wasn't today fantastic? It really felt like a vacation!<br />
H: It did! We should do that more often.<br />
Me: I know. It was idyllic. Just PERFECT.<br />
H: Yes, perfect.<br />
Me: Idyllic.<br />
H: Yes.<br />
H:...Wait a sec, I think we're forgetting about lunch.<br />
Me:...<br />
H: Remember lunch? When O had that screaming fit and you had to leave the restaurant? You know. Lunch.<br />
Me: Oh right. That.<br />
<br />
And the thing was, in the light of the beautiful afternoon I really <i>had</i> forgotten about the less-than-idyllic restaurant lunch. This is obviously the same kind of biological, survival-of-the-human-race amnesia that results in couples having more than one kid.<br />
<br />
But don't worry. I remember now. As, I'm sure, do the rest of the diners sitting on the terrace and also possibly the people driving by with their car windows open.<br />
<br />
There really isn't much of a story: Mostly our lunch involved us sitting down to eat at a cafe in Deauville, and O screaming his head off. SCRA-AH-EEAMING. About everything. Because he was tired. Because he's two. Because he couldn't run around in the street where the cars were. Because we sat him next to M. Because we didn't sit him next to M. Because he wanted his mommy. Because he hated his mommy. I don't know. Because.<br />
<br />
We tried everything. Letting him sit on our laps, giving him an extra straw, drinking from the special grown-up glasses, you name it. <br />
<br />
We were only able to finish our lunch because I finally caved into his demands for a pacifier (even though we are trying to cut it out) and because I left the restaurant with him in a stroller and ended up threatening him with NO BEACH TODAY AND ALSO POSSIBLY NO ICE CREAM EVER FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE. This is probably not my finest parenting moment. It's probably not OK to threaten two-year-olds. I mean, I don't even know if two-year-olds <i>understand</i> threats. But I was desperate for a way to get him to calm down enough to rejoin the table so that we (and everyone else) could eat the food that was already sitting on the table.<br />
<br />
Seriously, why do we even bother?<br />
<br />
It comes down to the fact that taking young children out to a restaurant is always a gamble, and yet, we go out to eat at least once a week. Most of the time it's not a problem, but sometimes it can be a disaster: One of those meals where you spend your entire time trying to reign in your children, keeping them from making too much noise, trying to get them to eat the sauce, worrying about how much they are bothering the other diners (a lot) and why the hell is the wait staff taking SO FREAKIN' LONG TO BRING THE BILL OH MY GOD WE ORDERED IT 30 SECONDS AGO CANT YOU SEE WE ARE TRYING TO GET OUT OF HERE.<br />
<br />
And we are <i>paying</i> for this pleasure! Sometimes, for fun, I also like to stick pins in my eyes. <br />
<br />
But really, we do it because we aspire to those great times when everyone is well-behaved and eats everything, and we hope desperately that just because we have kids doesn't mean that we can't carry on doing the things we used to enjoy. I don't want to be permanently relegated to those places with jungle gyms where it's OK to run around yelling or to the snack bar/picnic table. I love eating out and good food and want my children to learn to behave appropriately in restaurants so that we can enjoy it together. How can you do that without taking them out?<br />
<br />
(Let me clarify that I'm not talking about 5-star dining establishments, but about your every day, casual restaurant. One that serves lots of wine. Obviously.) <br />
<br />
This strategy worked for M, who is now five and for the most part really well-behaved in restaurants. (I've blocked out that previous post where she threw a fit outside the school. Biological amnesia hard at work!) Though she's a picky eater (no sauce, no meat), she can sit through a couple courses to get to the ice cream. So, let's see, O is two now so that's...only three more years of dragging him out screaming to get to that stage! Excellent.<br />
<br />
What are your thoughts on kids in restaurants? Is it worth the effort? <br />
<br />
PS - We live in Twickenham and often visit Normandy, so if you are thinking about a nice leisurely lunch, can I recommend Asia? At least for the next couple years. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-48332821800750945792011-05-31T20:58:00.004+01:002011-06-02T07:43:19.571+01:00TrombonesALERT: This post contains talk of blood and nail beds and heated paperclips, so don't say I didn't warn you.<br />
<br />
Anyway, yeaaaaah, yesterday afternoon I shut my own thumb in the car door. I still am not sure exactly how that happened, but clearly I am some sort of door-shutting-contortionist who was able to manage this feat one-handed. You can hire me for parties.<br />
<br />
By the evening, it was starting to be really uncomfortable and swollen, with the nail turning purple, or as M put it, "Yucky." Like nature intended, I spent some time on Google/Facebook trying to figure out the best course of action and read about a common treatment that involves (ALERT ALERT ALERT) heating up a paperclip, piercing the nail to drain the underlying blood, and thereby relieving the pressure on the nail-bed and subsequent pain. (SORRY.) <br />
<br />
Now, unless things are getting bad, this sounds like crazy talk. <i>You want me to push a red-hot paperclip through my fingernail!? To STOP the pain? Excellent. Sign me up. </i> <br />
<br />
I waited until the kids had gone to bed to give this a whirl (since there's nothing like a fear of paperclips to set you back in your career), but it turns out that you have to press REALLY HARD to get a paperclip to go through your nail. I quit after a few singe marks and opted for the Red Wine-Tylenol solution.<br />
<br />
By this morning at 6 am, after approximately two hours of sleep, I couldn't take it anymore and woke Husband and kids up for a trip to Urgences (or French ER, which, honestly, functions slightly less urgently than it sounds.) We spent an hour and a half or so in the waiting room, and then I went in for Proper Medical Treatment.<br />
<br />
Me: <i>J'ai ferme le pouce dans la porte de la voiture. Je suis stupide.</i> I slammed my finger in the car door. I'm an idiot.<br />
Doc: <i>Oui, ca se voit. Infirmiere, le trombone!</i> I can see that. Nurse, the trombone! <br />
Me: <i>Wait a sec, isn't "trombone" French for....</i><br />
<i>Doc: Oui. Paperclip. </i><br />
<br />
So they heated up the paperclip and stuck it in my nail.<br />
<br />
And that is why I love Google. And Facebook.<br />
<br />
PS - Special shout out to awesome real life Doctor Elizabeth who backed up the paperclip thing as Husband was saying helpful stuff like, "This is insanity, you might get an infection and die." And to which I can now reply, "Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyaaahhh."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-63463363797600314072011-05-30T18:27:00.000+01:002011-05-30T18:27:05.796+01:00Summer. Or, That Time of Year School is ClosedWe are in Normandy this week, enjoying the half term holiday. Yes, another holiday! While the English summer break may be short (only six weeks) they make up for it with Half Terms and Inset Days. And apparently there are about 24 half terms holidays per year, and approximately 237 inset days, so pretty much M goes to school on September 16th, January 20th, May 7th and that's it. <br />
<br />
Because I haven't been working this past year, I've been able to enjoy some extended time in France with the kids and often with Husband, who gets the standard European five weeks of vacation. But I get the feeling we won't all be able to take six weeks off this summer, so I'll have to come up with something else to keep M entertained. Art class? Check. Sports camp? Check? Take her to DC and get her grandparents to keep her occupied? CHECKITY CHECK.<br />
<br />
It's funny how school vacations conjure up very different sentiments once you are a stay-at-home parent. As a kid, you look forward to that last day of school before a summer break, thinking of all the freedom you will have, the sunshine and lack of homework. Long, lazy days stretch ahead! As a parent, you also think about those long, lazy days, but it isn't quite as nice a feeling. <i>So you say they aren't in school for six weeks? That's 42 days. 1008 hours. If I spend an hour a day at the playground *pulls at collar*, that only leaves me with 966 hours left to entertain her! *wipes sweat from brow.* Is five too young for overnight camp?</i><br />
<br />
And in thinking about going back to work (yes, please!) I sort of forgot about all the time off she gets. We have always gone the daycare route, and when both kids were preschool-aged this worked fine. Once you have a child in school (and one toddler), the schedule is harder to juggle unless you have a full time nanny, which is expensive. There are multiple drop-off points, and school days start at 9 am and end at 3:15 pm, so if you are commuting you will need to find both early morning and late afternoon childcare. We really want to keep O involved in some sort of day care/preschool, but the juggling act is overwhelming to think about. So I'm not! I'm putting it off! And since I don't have a 100% sure job yet, that's fine. Besides, there's still that long, lazy summer to <strike>panic about</strike> enjoy. <br />
<br />
In the meantime, it's Half Term, and today's Holiday Child Entertainment was a trip to the Parc Zoologique de Cleres. (If you are ever in Normandy, I highly recommend it. Not only is it a beautiful botanic garden, but they also have an interesting variety of animals, many of which are endangered and are being raised as part of a conservation program.) You can wander freely among flamingos, peacocks, wallabies, and deer.<br />
<br />
Both kids had a great time, until the end of the visit when M realized that they only had "boring animals." Apparently, being 10 feet from a hopping wallaby is not enough of a thrill, and she was hoping for free-roaming tigers or lions or something. This does bode well for art camp. Maybe I can find an alligator wrestling class she'd enjoy.<br />
<br />
OK then! I've been trying to think of a good finish to this post, but I slammed my own thumb in the car door about a hour ago so I feel like I have a good excuse to just leave it at alligator wrestling. (Seriously, OW. The nail is PURPLE. Also, WTF? How did I even do that?) So yeah, the space bar is my enemy right now, and there is a large glass of wine in the kitchen with my name on it. It's medicinal.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-65720269930009612842011-05-26T21:30:00.000+01:002011-05-26T21:30:28.321+01:00Neat FreakI'm a tidyer. (And also, apparently, a maker-upper of words.) I tidy a lot and frequently, finding something really satisfying about putting things in their rightful places. As I go from room to room, or upstairs to downstairs, I'm inevitably taking something with me to put away or clearing off surfaces.<br />
<br />
While he might not realize it, Husband is a very lucky man (and frankly, somewhat of a tidyer himself.) Not only does he live in a clean house, but The Tidying has all kinds of useful consequences for him. Need to diet? No problem. Let me clear this plate away before you finish eating. How about a little exercise? Try sprinting around the house in the morning before work, looking for something you left on the counter but is no longer there. I tidied it! Isn't this a fun game?! Wheeee! <br />
<br />
Full Disclosure: Despite my passion for order, we still have someone clean the house once a week. When the cleaning gets left to me, I tend to do it in stages: toilet one day, shower the next, stove never, so it isn't ALL clean, all at the same time. Which frankly, doesn't leave me with the same blissful, brand-spanking-clean-home feeling. It's a luxury, to be sure, but I'm also going to chalk it up as an entertainment cost. Some people go to movies. I prefer having my oven scrubbed. <br />
<br />
I like to blame this freakishness on living in a relatively small house. If you don't pick up after yourself, you can find yourself knee-deep in misplaced junk pretty quickly. When the washer and dryer are in the kitchen (Yes, Americans, the KITCHEN. England does not do "basements." Or "laundry rooms." Sometimes, if I'm pressed for time, I like to throw the lettuce into a spin cycle) it doesn't take very many loads of laundry to make all of downstairs look like a closet. Our open-plan living/dining/kitchen area can quickly turn into a living/dining/laundry/dumping ground very fast.<br />
<br />
If I'm really honest with myself, it's not about the small house but mostly about me being a Neat Freak. And probably having too much time on my hands to care about this nonsense. <br />
<br />
I do hope that I won't pass this too much on to my kids. Because while I kind of want them to be tidy(ers), I also want them to be able to enjoy mud and muck and messy paints and a roomful of toys strewn everywhere. They should feel free to dig into a big basket of toys and just start chucking things out all over the place until they find that piece of plastic crap they were looking for. And then run downstairs with the plastic crap, and drop it in the middle of the living room, because it's snack time. And eat their crumbly snack while racing around the living room, grinding pieces of cracker into the carp...oh my God, I don't even think I can finish that sentence without taking the vacuum cleaner out. <br />
<br />
*deep breaths*<br />
<br />
But you get my point, and there's a happy medium in there somewhere. Childhood is best with mess and dirt and joy and then perhaps a massive clean-up at the end of the day. I'm promising myself to work on it.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I better run. I can see a raisin on the floor.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-86416396927076268212011-05-23T14:55:00.001+01:002011-05-23T19:21:24.065+01:00Whoa WoeThe other day I went to pick up M from school. The sun was shining, the birds were singing; it was a beautiful afternoon and everything seemed right with the world. <br />
<br />
Then I walked out the school gate in front of her, and suddenly...WOE. How dare I go out before her because SHE WANTED TO GO FIRST and now her life is RUINED, RUINED, RUINED and I'M GOING TO STAND HERE AND SCREAM AND CRY UNTIL <i>YOUR</i> LIFE IS RUINED, RUINED, RUINED TOO! (Only not in so many words. It was more like, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!")<br />
<br />
? <br />
<br />
There was so much woe that people stopped to stare. Which was probably for the best, because when there is a screeching, irrational child in the vicinity, my instinct is to run. (I do not think this is the same instinct that got me pregnant. In fact, it is probably more closely tied to the one that allowed me to go to Chicago with my girlfriends for four days.) But no matter, because if people are staring at you, you can't ditch your kid. That is called Bad Parenting. <br />
<br />
It took a good 10 minutes for her to calm down enough to get ourselves home and onto a quiet spot on the couch where we sat and read books and ate a snack and skipped our previously scheduled activity. But those were a seriously loooong 10 minutes, and during them, I tried everything I could think of to get her to calm down: <br />
<br />
1) Reasoning -<br />
Fatigue can do crazy, crazy things to a kid. Making them into a rational, receptive human being is not one of them.<br />
<br />
2) Threatening -<br />
Apparently it is almost impossible for threats to be heard over the sound of screeching. Also, don't forget about the watching bystanders! <br />
<br />
3) Begging -<br />
Even if they are screaming, kids generally remember whatever treat it is you have promised them. So "OMG, please, please, please stop making that noise and I will buy you a pony!" is not advised. <br />
<br />
4) Trying to enlist help -<br />
What, fellow parent and neighbor? You don't want to have her over for a play date? Why not? Can't you see my beseeching eyes?! SHE'S LOVELY, PLEASE TAKE HER NOW! <br />
<br />
4) Patience -<br />
Hmm. This is not one of my strengths. Are you saying you want me to stand here and be patient and loving and accepting while my kid flips out and maybe even just hug her and wait quietly until she gets through it? Because that's pretty hard to do, and I'm not even sure that's gonna...hey! It works! Let's go home.<br />
<br />
So we did. <br />
<br />
On a totally unrelated side note: I went to the small local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner and some cake mix for cupcakes for the class bake sale. But they didn't have any mix, and I had to make cup cakes FROM SCRATCH. It's like the dark ages around here.<br />
<br />
At least there was canned frosting. Phew.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7090581657402842505.post-18776117151968265682011-05-17T14:40:00.001+01:002011-05-19T14:36:06.641+01:00Ah, Buh, Kuh, Duh, EhToday is M's Reading Day at school. Once a week, each child sits down with a parent volunteer (or lacking that, whoever they can snag in the hallway) and works on reading the weekly book assignment and learning their "key words." It's a way for the school to give each child some extra one-on-one attention as well as measure their progress with a list of words they are supposed to recognize on sight. <br />
<br />
I happily volunteered to help out once a week. Unfortunately, this was before I realized that the kids were learning to read with phonics. (Every American reading this just thought "Hooked on Phonics worked for me!" Advertising totally works.) <br />
<br />
Whenever I'm doing reading with the kids, I always get slightly panicky. Because while phonics are straightforward when it comes to single letters (except soft "c") once you get into the various letter combinations, I am never sure how to explain things. Is it "ea" like "sea" or like "measure"? How about "oo"? "Soon" or "book"? And do not even get me started on "ough". Also, can I talk about letters? Is that confusing? Are we allowed to use that word or do we just refer to "sounds"? Is there still spelling? Hey kid, just give me that book and I'll read it for you! Won't that be fun?!<br />
<br />
The school is lucky to have me.<br />
<br />
At home, we have started reading longer chapter books aloud to M, things like Mary Poppins and The BFG. (Side note: Wow, the book Mary Poppins is super cranky; Julie Andrews did not adequately prepare me for her.) This is a vast improvement on endless re-readings of short stories, many of which are lovely, but any story is boring after 42 times. In one day. <br />
<br />
O will listen in occasionally, but his attention span is nowhere near long enough to sit through a book without pictures. He prefers books with animal photos, so you can stop on each page to make the associated noises. So cute, right? Also, annoying! There is nothing like moo-ing every sentence to break up a good narrative.<br />
<br />
"'The runaway train choo-chooed down the tracks.' <i>Yes, O, that's a cow. Moo. Good job.</i> 'Duffy Driver raced after...' <i>Yep, the sheep says baaa. Excellent.</i> 'raced after the runaway tr...' <i>Quack.</i>"<br />
<br />
At least he isn't asking me about fahniks.<br />
<br />
Overall, it's a lot of fun to watch as your kid starts learning to read, knowing it's going to open up a whole new world for them. The difficulty at this age is getting them to concentrate on homework (usually one book per week) when they've had a long day and would much prefer to be zoning out with some <strike>television</strike> coloring. To which I say, fair enough. If I came back from a long day at work and someone handed me a calculus book and forced me to start doing whatever it is you do with calculus (calculate?), I'd probably have to club them over the head with the text, before grabbing my wine glass and running away. <br />
<br />
Tonight we'll take a break from the homework stuff and carry on with our own reading, M and O curled up on the couch together, listening to what that cranky Mary Poppins has done now. Also, <i>moo</i>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00314906682549037650noreply@blogger.com0