To Dream - Perchance to Sleep!

Ok - so I know it's been nearly two weeks but life kind of took over!

In the run up to the end of term, I have been in work all the hours God sends, putting on the Christmas show, juggling evening duties,Science marking and doing what I actually am paid to do - teach!

Now I'm not one to moan, but I have been multi-tasking madly and despite many extras, through sheer determination I have just about kept all the balls in the air.

At least until today, when my colleague walked in to find me sound asleep on the staff room sofa! (not sure I'm going to live it down!)

The problem is -yes I can mutitask  but I need some sleep in order to do this well. And though juggling the end of term is part and parcel of being a teacher, I am struggling to combine that with the lack of sleep inflicted on parent's of young children.

If it's not one child needing milk, it's another needing a wee, or a third having a bad dream, or because they want to have a cuddle or it's too dark or it's too light!

Now loving mother as I am, a cuddle from my son at 3 o'clock in the morning is not high on my wish list!

I just want 12 hours unbroken sleep preferably in a dark room, but hey I'm not as fussy as my kids!

I know it's a phase and it will pass and soon I'll be dragging them from their sweaty teenage beds but at the moment it feels like it's going to go on for ever.

Every time we get a good night, I go to bed the following night, fingers crossed that we may have turned  a corner but so far .............no luck!

In a recent assembly on 'Hopes and Dreams' I felt awful  as, when I was asked what I dream of,  I said 'SLEEP!'

Saying No!

Recently, I was listening to ‘Pause for Thought’ on Radio 2 and was really caught by what was being said. The gist of the presenter’s words was, that as a war-baby he had seen many children deprived of basics that we take for granted. He wasn’t harking back to the war with rose coloured spectacles, he was pointing out that a little deprivation did them no harm. In our daily lives 'No!' is a word that should be used more frequently and without fear of reprisals.

In this run up to Christmas, where I am hell-bent on finding the perfect gifts for my children,( you know the ones that will make their eyes light up) this comment really made me stop and think (or pause for thought!)

 My children have a lot of toys and I mean a lot! They have plenty of clothes and are lucky enough to have a bike each.  So when he said ‘....saying no doesn’t mean you don’t love them!’  - it really hit home.

As a working Mum, I do feel guilty about saying ‘No’ and probably do spoil my children when I can. Not because I feel they should have everything their friends have, but because I want them to think I’m a good mum – even when I’m not around.

But actually, he is right! 

Having a new toy or new clothes does not say I love you. Spending time with them, reading, painting, baking and having fun says I love you!

I had fallen into the trap of the guilty parent and I hadn't even noticed!

So as December approaches, I’m going to reel in my spending, and choose a few choice gifts. Then instead of battling through the Christmas crowds for days on end, I intend to spend time with my children.

 In these credit crunching times, saying ‘No!’ is definitely an option!

Money may be in short supply but love certainly is not!

Wear it with pride!

Whilst shopping for the weekly shop in our local supermarket I noticed a collecting box for ‘The Poppy Appeal and so headed over to buy one. Whilst pinning it carefully to my lapel,  I overheard a couple of mum’s discussing Armistice day and the Royal British Legion Poppy Appeal. As an avid supporter of this day of recognition, I shamelessly listened in.

I was pleased to hear that even though their children were only 5 they would be letting them wear a poppy to school  (despite the risks of a pin ...but that’s another issue) However, I was shocked when she ended the sentence  with ‘......because I wouldn’t want her to feel left out.’

Surely wearing a poppy is about acknowledging our debt to those who have fought for our freedom and lost their lives - not about fitting in.

Even at five, I want my daughter to have some understanding of why people wear this little red flower. I don’t want to shatter her illusions of a happy safe world but I want her to realise that some people worked very hard for it to be so. And yes – some people gave and still give their lives!

This is not about having a morbid conversation that will frighten her but about acknowledging that she is growing up in a world where wars happen and people fight for what they believe is right.

 No, I wont dwell on the deaths – after all she is 5 - but I will make an effort to impart some idea of the solemnity of Armistice day and the pride with which we all should wear our poppies. 

Get Real!

So half term was manic! I just couldn’t find the time to write, so I have to apologise for missing a week!

It’s that age old problem of wanting to do too much and then finding yourself doing nothing well -if at all!

I wanted half term to be a real break from school and work, and so was keen to make sure my children enjoyed the full benefit of Mummy 24/7 in a perfectly orchestrated orgy of activities – like real mummies do!

At least that was the plan.......

In my uber-mummy status, I’d organised friends to play, swimming trips, baking activities, soft play, bike riding, family lunches – you name it we were going to do it.

But then, when things are running smoothly, the world throws a cog in the wheels of your life!

Somehow, I managed to pull my shoulder so that even lifting a duvet became a problem, let alone a small child. Out of the window went teaching my daughter to cycle without stabilisers, as I couldn’t hold the bike steady. Swimming was gone, as even changing my youngest’s nappy was proving something of a challenge. Home-cooked family lunches came out of the freezer and soft play went quietly by the wayside.

I felt such a failure! I had had such dreams of a week of real family bliss. You know the one I mean -children laughing merrily, adults looking on indulgently, rosy cheeks all round!

But then  as I was about to be swallowed up by my failure as a mum - it struck me; I was trying to make my life perfect and in no way is life ever remotely as perfect as we are led to believe it should be.

No, we didn’t manage all the exciting activities I had pictured, but you know what – the children all seemed happy with the more mundane activities. They played with their toys, we did colouring and the baking was messier for the lack of parental input, but the results were just as good! Yes, we had the usual tantrums and arguments but that too is part of being a real family.  This was confirmed by my eldest who looked round the table, as we all ate frozen lasagne for tea, and said ‘We look like a real family!’

My idea of a real family had been a picture perfect break packed with exciting activities – hers was sitting down to eat as a family!

I thought to myself ‘Get real!’

Life isn’t picture perfect and rarely runs to plan and if anything, this half term has taught me not to worry about being perfect, but to focus on being a real family – warts and all.

What's your magic number?

'Congratulations!' rang round the staffroom as my friend returned from his paternity leave followed swiftly by ‘you must be mad!’ He is now the proud father of twin girls. Impressive and two weeks in his hair is not yet grey.  Even more impressive is the fact that this brings his tally of children to 5. 

As a mother of three, I take my hat off to anyone who manages more than 3. I know that it’s all about organisation and timing but I’m just not that organised, and timing was never my strong point.

Three is definitely my number!

But what surprises me is the amount of people who think more than two children is too many.  I totally agree that if a family struggles to support itself, then more than two children may not be wise, but this is surely up to the families involved.

I realise that for many two is perfect and completes their family but I always knew that if we had a choice - and the luck - then three was our number. My husband and I, both came from three, and to us that feels like the right number. 

 I love the imbalance of three and the fact that they have to share us and some times it's not their turn. 

I love the fact I have a brother and a sister and I love Sunday lunches when we all get together.

Families don’t fit into boxes. Each family is unique and has its own special number that works for it.

I know families who have one child and love it because of the freedom it affords and the time and attention they can devote to that child.

I know families who have five and enjoy the camaraderie it affords now and in later life.

Families should not be judged by their size, after all, these days, many families amalgamate through remarriage and develop into a new family with a new dynamic and a new magic number.

Family is about love and, as I have discovered, I love my third child just as much as my first.

Love for your children is not finite – it’s infinite and whether you have one child or seven there is enough for each child.

It all comes down to what your magic number is!

My dad's feet are bigger than yours!

Driving to school the other morning with my daughter and her friends I was listening to them jabber on and smiling away to myself.  This week they were discussing who had collected the most conkers.

‘I’ve got 49!’ my daughter announced proudly.

‘Well I have 72!’ her friend countered.

‘Well my brother has 87!’

‘Well my sister has 99!’

You get the picture! And by the time we reached school someone’s Granny had a 1000. (lucky Granny!)

It made me smile because children always try to one up each other, to be bigger, better, smarter than those around them.  There were no hard feelings it was simply a game that my daughter (whose granny only had 900 conkers!) lost. She was happy and he was happy after all she won last weeks’ discussion – who had the biggest feet. (Daddy – though I am still dubious!)

So I headed for the playground. Loitering by the gates, I joined some other mum’s who seemed deep in conversation.  I caught just the tail end....

‘Well  of cause, Molly can swim 25 metres’

‘Really that’s brilliant, Peter can only do 10m but I hear Jaydn can do 50m.’

‘Our Alice can do 50m and is learning to dive!’

‘Louis can dive in and swim 50m.’

De ja vu............

In light of what I had just heard in my car, I felt like adding ‘my daughter can dive in, swim 50m whilst wearing pyjamas and carrying a brick!’ but wasn’t sure the joke would be well met.

The problem is that none of those women were joking! They all desperately wanted to prove that their child could compete.

But what struck me most wasn’t their competitive nature, I’m as competitive as the next Mum, but the fact that they were overlooking the big picture.

My daughters granny had less conkers but that was ok because Daddy had the biggest feet ( still not sure!)

So maybe Peter could only do 10m but he might be a better reader than Louis.

And Molly might knock spots off Alice in maths.

And maybe Jaydn is just a lovely child.

The world is not fair and we are not created equal. But we all have talents and assets and these should be recognised. And it’s a parent’s job to be first to celebrate those differences.

So here goes:

My daughter struggles with gym but my goodness can she read!

I'm dreaming of a multi-coloured Christmas?

Christmas approaches!  I know this as the local garden centre has stopped selling plants and has filled it’s halls with everything glitzy. Tinsel of every conceivable colour festoons the shelves, shimmering baubles sparkle in every colour of the rainbow. Christmas trees, real and fake, block every aisle. All colour coordinated for that perfect Christmas. And what did I expect – after all it is the first week in October! We only have 80 days which can’t possibly be enough time unless we start now.

Seriously – 80 days – I hear you can go around the world in that!

So being the uber-mum I am, I began to think about Christmas and identify what my children might like in three months time. For inspiration, I turned to the pages of the many catalogues that land on my doormat.

Opening one of the myriad of pretty notepads I buy for no other reason than I like them, I write Christmas 2011 and underline it and then begin!

Toys by their thousands fill the pages. Aha – a cd player complete with two microphones in a lurid plastic – perfect for my budding X-factor competitor. Colour options blue or pink? Hmm don’t really do pink but I suppose this once. I jot it down neatly in my book and move on.

Right – next a doll for the toddler who loves playing mummy. Next decision, boy doll in blue or girl doll in pink?
Either - I don’t really mind as I know the clothes will be stripped off within minutes and later found in some obscure place like the Hoover bag.

So now to the boy, this should be easy as he has been hankering after a micro scooter for ages. Just need to choose which one – pink or blue?

Are they having a laugh? Are the only colours in the world pink and blue? Do our children get any other choices? It would appear not.

For a rainbow nation (to borrow a phrase) we are fairly blinkered when it comes to our children. Pink or blue = boys’ toy or girls’ toy! Our children are growing up in a society that requires tolerance and acceptance yet from their first moments we are forcing them into pigeon holing themselves.

Oh I realise the manufacturer are trying to up their sales! If I buy a pink bike for my daughter they are banking on me buying a blue one for my son to avoid the ultimate humiliation of having a ‘girl’s bike’.

Unlucky – my son spent the first three months of his life in a pink sleeping bag and still sports a pink swimming jacket without batting an eyelid. I am not going to bow to their will!

Inspired by the riot of colours I saw at the garden centre, I have decided this Christmas I am going to go out of my way to choose colours other than blue and pink, in an attempt to balance the toys we are going to get given that are so stereotypically coloured.

Come on, let’s make an effort this Christmas to buck the pink/blue trend!

Branch out pick colours that make you smile. Show the manufacturers we are not as narrow minded as they believe.

Here’s to a rainbow this Christmas!

It's not the taking part it's the prize that counts!

It wasn’t until my daughter had her first birthday party invite that I was initiated into the secret world of children’s parties. All my memories of childhood parties, where children strived to be the best to win a prize, were blown away. Children received prizes for losing! Not only that, but once they had got their sweetie, before the game had finished, they were clamouring for another game in order to get another consolation prize.

I couldn’t believe it! The piece de resistance was ‘Pass the Parcel’. It was no longer a children’s version of roulette where no one knew who would win next. It was a complex yet orchestrated system that involved the correct number of layers for the partygoers and a final prize. Heaven forbid you should mess up the mathematics through illness or lack of a babysitter!  Each layer had a prize and the early winners listlessly passed the diminishing parcel round ‘til everyone had a prize and the change of paper signified that once again they had the chance to win. Then the atmosphere changed and became fiercely competitive as the final layer was hard fought, with children hanging on to try and win.

To me this epitomises the way much of our society thinks –‘We wont play unless we get something out of it!’

What are we teaching our children? That life is always fair and that we are all equal. That to do something for the chance of a reward is not enough? That being the best is not fair? Even at a party I remember clearly the kudos of being the best at Musical Bumps. It had been a hard fought competition and I’m not sure my behind ever fully recovered, but there was one prize and I won it. It was the sweetest tasting Mars Bar ever.

How sad it is, that as we head for our Olympic year we are not following the Olympic ethos and are hell bent on teaching our children that taking part is not enough. Surely we should make a stand and show children that there is an enjoyment in participation. I know that is what I would like for my children.

As I watched the parade of parties over the year and my daughters own grew nearer, I was determined - I wanted my child’s to be the party that broke the mould.

But where did I find myself the night before the party? That’s right, sitting on the floor wrapping a pass the parcel with 10 layers for the 10 children, each with a set of stickers.

I could have coped with the adults but I couldn’t face my daughter’s friends snubbing her because they didn’t understand the Olympic dream to participate!

To juggle or not to juggle??

So term has begun and the school run has started in earnest and as I race to get me and three kids, dressed, fed and out of the door by 8 o'clock with the correct kit in the correct coloured bag. I am left wondering if this manic juggling act is normal.

I know lots of people who pity me for working but in our family it has always worked. My husband has set working days that allowed us to share the childcare while making enough money to ensure life was comfortable, if not luxurious.

But this term, as I bundle my youngest daughter into nursery, I am left feeling a little uncomfortable. I can explain to the older two about - work, money and the need for both, but she can't comprehend it and having had Mummy solidly for nine weeks, now looks at me as if I am truly abandoning her. 

I know that I am doing the best I can as a working mum (and all mums know we're damned if we do and damned if we don't) but I am left wondering - should I forego the education, clubs and family holidays my work allows us to indulge in, in order to spend time with my last child as I did my first. Or is it because she is my last I am trying to hang on to every precious moment. Or is that the price of being a third child?