Making up

Bedtime conversation in Spawn Y's room. There's unresolved sibling tension. I'm hopeful they will sort it out soon so I can have a shower and finish my gin - which is downstairs getting closer to room temperature the longer I'm up here. (Spawn X knocks and enters room)

Me (whispering): Do you want me to leave?

Spawn Y (whispering): No

Me: Hey. Did you want to talk this out before bed?

Spawn X: I'm sorry I was sarcastic to you before. That wasn't cool.

Spawn Y: That's OK. I'm sorry I was irrationally sensitive.

(They hug)

Me: Ah sweeeet ... You guys are so mature. Just so you know - me and uncle Michael never had conversations like this.

Spawn X: That's cause we're better people than you.

Falling insects

It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. (Frederick Douglass)

A while ago Madi and me came across a poorly looking bee, crawling on the ground. We found a piece of bark and encouraged Bee to climb on it, then carefully lifted it to a hanging basket directly above us. Bee slowly crawled off the bark then promptly fell, landing with a soft thuk on the ground. Bee obviously wasn't up to hanging from a flower - it needed to stand on one. We found a flowery bush nearby and used the bit of bark to transfer Bee to that instead. We watched it stick a proboscis into the centre of the new flower and drink in liquid energy for a long time.

We walked away, happy that we'd helped Bee survive another day in an increasingly flowerless world. Maybe we'd also helped postpone the apocalypse? You know - when we run out of bees and food and wifi. If the apocalypse does happen I think cockroaches will rise up as the new dominant species. They can live off manky food and survive falls of many times their height without splatting inside out.

Two days later, Madi and me went to Clip & Climb. We watched the short safety video then followed the instructor and got harnessed in. I soon found that clipping and climbing is fun. A system to let you defy gravity and see the world 25' from the ground? What's not to like? It's hard to equate it with any other feeling as an adult who doesn't do extreme sport of any kind, but the sensation of climbing higher than I've ever climbed in my life and then gliding back to earth again was invigorating. It was like someone had tweaked gravity. I scrambled up the wall and glided down 4 times before realising I couldn't breathe properly and needed to stop. I thought of Bee, tumbling from the hanging basket. Falling many times her height and landing on the hard paving slab. How does she experience gravity? Does landing hurt? Or are bees like cockroaches?

I thought about trust. Loads of things in life require trust. Lots of things are probably so familiar and assumed that they are taken for granted and people don't recognise the trust they have in them. Like the harness.

The first time I climbed, I trusted the harness consciously. I was about to experience an unusual thing and told my brain it was OK. I made the decision to believe it would prevent me falling and dying instantly. Or bleeding out slowly, surrounded by panicked Clip and Climb employees. I climbed 5' or so (like the video advised), then leaned back and swooped back to the ground. Trusting the harness was practised and learned. Climbing and falling a short way built confidence to climb higher. To trust some more. To repeat the experience of climbing and falling and becoming knackered yet exhilarated by the whole thing and never once feeling unsafe or damaged.

But what if it hadn't worked out like that? What if all indicators were: this is a safe activity, founded on a reliable mechanism that will feel a bit weird the first few times you try it but everything will work out - but then I splat to the ground on the first attempt?

Chances are, I wouldn't try it again (even if I could still move).

What happens when the trust isn't with gravity, but with people?
I'm your primary care-giver. 
I love you. 
I will nurture you to adulthood and celebrate your independence.
I will protect your body, mind and heart until you get there.

What happens when THAT safety mechanism fails?
Try again. 
I'll catch you this time. 
It won't happen again. 
Trust me- I said it won't happen again. 
WHY WON'T YOU TRUST ME??!

And then fails again?
That's awful - I'll never treat you like that last person did. 
I'm different than them.
OK...  NOW I'm different from them.
You can trust me now.
WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING??!

It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. 

If this is true, then it's way too big a job for any parent. Building strong children takes a village. Building strong children doesn't ban them from ever climbing (unless you want to cause a different kind of problem), but allowing them to climb within certain parameters. Still allowing them to fall, but with gravity dialled down. To jump and be caught. To jump and sometimes not be caught. To learn who's outstretched arms should be trusted.

Repairing broken men is harder. Some of them don't want to climb ever again. They are afraid of heights and harnesses. They are wary not just of dangerous people, but of everyone. The villagers don't always know what to do with them or how to help. They wonder if repair is possible and who who should foot the bill.

So... damage control. Work with what you know. What are the constants?
• Gravity on earth is 1g. Always.
• Climb to your height and practise falling from there.
• If you can still move it and there's no bleeding, swelling or disfigurement, it's just a bruise. You'll live.
• God is bigger than any mistake you can make.
• Stability attracts stability. Surround yourself with people you want to become like.
• Mechanical failure and human failure are things. Don't be bitter.
• Forgiveness is always an option, even if it's not asked for.
• Terminal velocity increases with mass, so a cockroach will out-survive you in high fall.

Seeking and hiding

It's 3am and I'm in our latest 24/7 prayer room. Our theme is Fixing Broken Things. All the activities around the room feature it on some way. Loosely sometimes- but there if you look for it.

Then they entered into a covenant to seek the Lord God of their fathers with all their heart and with all their soul. (2 Chronicles 15:12)

We have a roll of lining paper gaffer taped to the floor with verses and prayers scribbled all over it. I look at the verse from Chronicles for a long time. I become fixated with the word seek. Isn't it weird to single out one particular word and overthink it until it sounds like something you've never heard before. A foreign syllable that feels strange in your head when you think it and on your lips when you say it and your ears are like - Whoah! That was a brand new sound.

Seek

Seek

Seek

Honestly - what does it even mean?! What does it look like to seek for something? To seek for God? And how do you seek God's presence when it's essentially everywhere? Seeking is kind of like searching, but more intense. Like there's more riding on the outcome. Like your life depends on it or something.

This song starts playing over the PA. It has a line about seeking in it and the printed lyrics are in the prayer tent. I go over to the tent and crawl inside to read them. There’s a sleeping bag and pillow and camping lantern in here. It’s 3am and I could lie down and sleep, but I’m too busy thinking about seeking, here in the tent. Hidden from the rest of the room. Hidden from the world. I’m seeking while I’m hiding. Hiding and seeking at the same time. That's kind of cool.

I remember an incident from years ago when the kids were little and my parents were down visiting us. Grandparents are nature's built-in babysitters and were playing with everyone while I tidied up after dinner. There was lots of squealing and running and laughing as they played hide and seek. There was a distinct lack of stealth to the whole thing that comes with toddlers, but no one seemed to mind and it didn't affect the enjoyment of the game. After a while, the house became quieter as the game moved on and attention (or grandparental energy) ran out. I was making a cup of tea when a muffled voice almost made me drop my mug. 'Do you think they're still looking for me...?'

It was my mum. She'd been hiding in a cupboard for the past 20 minutes, squashed next to the ironing board, 8' from where I was standing and I hadn't know she was there. The kids didn't know she was there either, and what's more, they weren't looking anymore. They were watching TV with Grandad.

Sooooooooo..... My Mum won at hide and seek.

If the end goal is to out manoeuvre the other players and stay hidden until it's decided you can't be found, then everybody gives up and declares you the winner, then that's what happened. Technically and actually. My mum was the winner.

Except that wasn't the point. The point was the game itself. The laughing and being engaged with what's happening in the moment. The being alive together.

It's so easy to beat a little kid at hide and seek. Toddlers are monumentously poor at
1: Being quiet (unless they are asleep)
2: Finding a good hiding spot
3: Staying there for any length of time

As illustrated here (pinched from my mate Michael - engaged in a covert hide and seek operation with his daughter, Abby). I love this picture. It illustrates everything that's beautiful about playing with your kid. You can't win at anything with them because you can't win at relationships. You build them. The game - the stories you create together make the whole thing work.

I think about all this in the prayer tent while I hide. I get a sudden image of God in the fringes of my mind, counting. I zip up the prayer tent to hide even better. I even lie down to make myself smaller. 4..... 3..... 2...... 1...... OK - Where are you!?

And I burst out the tent, surprising him (because you can totally do that) and he laughs and bolts and beckons me to follow him. I don't know where to run to first. He's everywhere. Divine hide and seek.

Is that even a thing? I google and unsurprisingly, other people are writing about it: There's something deep in our hearts that wants to be pursued. We love the feeling of hiding, knowing full well people who care about us are pursuing us, seeking us out. I believe there is a God-given desire in all of us to be pursued, to be sought out. We want someone to pursue us. It makes us feel wanted, worthy, and desired. God is no different. He wants us to pursue Him. I believe that He even hides Himself sometimes to see if we value Him enough to seek Him. www.wholeheartedmen.com

I think this guy's onto something. I think winning is in the connection of relationship, not the victory of the outcome.

And if you really, really want someone to find you, then you hide in plain sight. Just like Abby.

Toilet training

When tensions are running high between siblings due to exceptionally hot weather, teenage sensitivities and hunger (the responsible adult in the house only just realised it's 5pm and there's no plan for dinner yet), don't waste the bad feeling they have for each other. Use the time constructively to deliver a short object lesson in cleaning the toilet bowl.

If you are very, very lucky, the stars will align at this moment and when you nip to the toilet before dashing to Lidl, you will discover that toilet user or users unknown have once again left skid marks and pretended not to notice.

Decide that your strategy must change as neither cleaning it up without comment nor cornering spawn one at a time and sensitively broaching the subject to be met with shocked expressions and claims of 'That definitely wasn't me' are clearly not long term solutions.

Instead, gain the attention of all present and temporarily remove screen privileges. Distract with dinner-related tasks and explain what is about to happen. Prepare for resistance, but power through and point out that the pizza will be ready in 7 short minutes, by which time the unpleasantness will be over.

Assemble in the bathroom. Explain to the spawn that they can determine the order they clean in, but that everyone will get a turn. In fact, everyone will get more than one turn if that's what the job demands. Hand out the toilet roll and bleach and supervise the queue.

Be surprised at how efficiently the job can be done. Supervise the squirting of the bleach and the final flush. Congratulate your team as they wash their hands and file out the bathroom.

Da-daaah!

Job done. Not only is the toilet bowl perfectly clean and ocean fresh, but tensions between the spawn will have melted away. They will have bonded with each other during this team building exercise and now be united in their annoyance with you. Luckily you are an adult and your sense of self worth does not depend on their approval.

Eat pizza together 7 minutes later and discuss the best bits and worst bits of your day. The worst bit will be likened to class detentions which apparently 'never work'. I disagree. The object lesson was clearly effective because we're still talking about it and the toilet is clean. 

Family Meeting

Minutes from non-scheduled after dinner meeting last night. Points raised and resolved as follows:

Issue 1
J playing the same 7 notes on the bass. Loudly and repeatedly.
Defence: It's annoying
Accused: I'm learning to play the bass. I need to practise
Verdict: Overruled. He's learning to play bass and doing really well. Suck it up.

Issue 2
M offended at laughter when we recount the story of a pheasant getting squished in the road
Defence: This upsets me. It's not funny when animals die.
Accused: Yeah but sometimes they're so stupid it's a little funny.
Verdict: Upheld. That was a living thing that just got turned inside out in front of you. Show a little compassion.

Issue 3
Sniffing other people's armpits
Defence: It's weird. And annoying. Please stop.
Accused: Sometimes you don't spray adequately, I'm just trying to work it out.
Defence: Do it more subtely then. You're an adult.
Verdict: Upheld. Sorry. I will try to be more senstitive in the future.

Issue 4
Looking for something that's no longer there
Defence: When you move my stuff I don't know where it's gone and it's irritating.
Accused: There shouldn't be 'stuff' lying around - everything belongs somewhere
Verdict: Overruled: Pick up your own stuff

Issue 4a
You leave clutter lying around the house that should be put away
Defence: There shouldn't be 'stuff' lying around - everything belongs somewhere
Accused: Well sometimes you don't ask us to put stuff away nicely
Defence: I'll work on that. Sorry. Maybe you guys can work on tidying stuff up with a good attitude when I have asked nicely?
Verdict: Compromise

Issue 5
Phones at the table
Defence: This meeting is going on too long....
Accused: Put it away. We're nearly done. Any further issues??

Issue 6
The BABOAA (Being-a-bit-of-an-arse) alarm - which is a 'Woowoowoowoowoowoowoo' siren noise made by the one who identifies arse-like behaviour in another
Defence: This winds me up. Can we stop using it
Accused: But you like to use it on other people
Defence: Yeah - because when I use it, I use it correctly
Verdict: We have evolved beyond the alarm. It is causing more trouble than it's solving. Let's use words in future.

Issue 7
Watermelon spritz thievery
Defence: It was there in the cupboard and I asked for some and you said no, then 2 days later it's GONE. The rules aren't consistent
Accused: Who bought it?
Defence: You did. But I was with you.
Accused: OK - so we have a basic misunderstanding about entitlement here. You saw it in the cupboard and felt it was communal stock. I'll hide the bottle the next time.
Verdict: Overruled

Issue 8
Blogging about family conversations
Verdict: We ran out of time to discuss this one. It's on the agenda for the NEXT family meeting, along with not cleaning the toilet after leaving skidders and putting cereal boxes back in the cupboard with less than half a bowlful of flakes left.

But why?

Madi: 'Why do some people swear?'
Me: 'Maybe it makes them feel grown up. Or maybe they're mad and they lose all their other words.'

Madi: 'How come it's always sad when someone dies?'
Me: 'Because you miss having them around and the love has nowhere to go.'

Madi: How come it's always disgusting to pick your nose?'
Me: 'I don't know babe. Some things just always are.'

This was an incredibly lazy response, but I don't actually know this one and the internet caused caused me to stumble upon a disturbing forum for mucus eaters - so I'm not researching further.

Some things just are - and trying to analyse it or explain why leaves you fumbling for words. Or confidently stating words that you later retract. Then maybe reinstate again. (Is Pluto a planet again or what??)

Luckily there was no theory test for parenthood.

And if you can avoid all the alt right, porn, mucus eating and general waffle, the web is full of wonderment like this:

Tidy

I can't blog about the most exciting thing that happened today as I don't have permission from the certain young person involved. So here's the second most exciting thing:

Fig1: Expired products removed from food cupboard. Oldest item had date of June 2014.

Fig2: Plastic clips retrieved from expired food products. Bought some new ones last week as I thought we'd lost them all. Plastic clips now in abundance.

Fig3: Food cupboard now orderly and within date.

Thank you and goodnight.

System overload

Adulting is exhausting me today. Too many emotions for one tiny shaven head. Ok - we have:

• Irritation that the work day has been spent doing lots of things with very little to show for it

• Anxiety that the to do list for tomorrow is even longer now 

• Relief that the end of financal year almost up 

• Happiness with brand new filing system (2 empty folders with pre-labelled dividers)

• Disbelief that child X has stumbled upon in-app purchases and spent £450 in last 2 days

• Gratitude towards bank who realised there was unusual activity before we did and blocked our card

• Anger that X bought pixels without authorisation

• Irritated that in-app purchase function wasn't disabled as I had believed it to be

• Disappointment that X would even try to buy pixels when you can play the game and get everything in it for free if you waste enough hours of your life playing it

• Fascination with gaming currency (gems) vs 'real' money (pounds sterling in this case) and how inter-changeable they both are when there's only ONE swipe between them

• Realisation that if I'm struggling with the above, how much more abstract a concept is this to a small/medium sized person who does not yet have a bank card

• Annoyed with X for not making the distinction anyway and clicking 'Confirm purchase'

• On 20 separate occasions

• Compassion at the level of shame and remorse he is currently demonstrating (he has been crying hot, silent tears and snot into my left thigh for the past hour and shows no signs of stopping)

• Anger with the nature of the world and the fact we even need money in the first place
• (This is not new- See here. And here)

• Anger at the Clash Royale people for making it so easy to spend large amounts of real money in a short period of time

• Admiration of the business model that makes large amounts of real money in a short period of time

• Shame that as an adult, I did not identify the in-app loophole and close it myself

• Annoyance at Apple who have taken all our money

• Slight stirrings of Hope that they might not keep it

• Growing excitement during online conversation with Apple support who want to investigate and see what they can do

• Immense relief at their decision to refund 80% of the bill
• Happy dance around living room

• Anticipation in telling X the good news

• Impatience that X has showered, gone to bed and cried himself to sleep so I can't tell him yet

• Overwhelming Love as I watch him sleep 

• Gratitude that we get to have him in our lives - despite the complications this can involve

• Empathy with the impulsive addicts who get sucked into shallow rewards and loose their homes, marriages or sanity because of lack of control. (Usually because of something far heftier than Clash Royale pixels, but the underlying principle is surely the same)

• Gratitude for the people in my life that have shown me grace when I needed it

• Delight that we have wine in the cupboard

Statements you really don't want to hear from your teenage babysitter

'I took a psychcopath test when you were out and it said I have psychotic tendencies but don't worry - I don't think it's that accurate. And I only got 32 out of 80.'

Growing up

Turning 16 is a reasonably big deal in the UK. It brings about a few rights and responsibilities that were previously denied - like driving a moped, changing your name by deed poll, consenting to sexual activity and getting a national insurance number. Whoo hoooo!

This is truly exciting. But the human brain soon adjusts to the new normal and by the time you balk at the idea of going anywhere on a moped, have paid HMRC a proportion of your wage for the best part of the last 30 years and are midway through a lifetime promise to have sex with the same person from this day forward, for better or for worse until one of you dies, you may have decided to purchase a wheeled shopping trolley. Like this one.

This is my Granny Trolley. I absolutely love it. No one else in the family will use it. They think it makes me look like this.

KEEP CALM AND SHOP ON is clearly not the healthiest life philosophy, but it helps reduce our carbon footprint a little and it's not tartan. It's also strangely satisfying the way the kids are uncomfortable to be seen with or near it. Especially after days like yesterday.

Keith was away with work and me and the kids were doing a food top-up shop. Plus ManChild turned 16 last week and we needed pizza and treats for him and his friends who were coming round to celebrate that he can now join a trade union or die for his country.

We walked into town with Granny Trolley because it was sunny. This was uneventful. The shopping itself was equally ordinary, but this was later contested. Here is my version of events:

It was Saturday and therefore busy. We did not have a definitive shopping list and were winging it. This was my modus operandi until 3 years ago when something flipped over in my brain and now I really need a list.

We got a Big Trolley to transport Granny Trolley + shopping. We weren't getting a Big Shop and the kids are really good at not asking for stuff. But they had birthday treat permission-to-ask and made some really good suggestions.

About half way round there was an announcement that today's shoppers can get a free stainless steel peeler. Just go to the top of aisle 2 to claim this. We were genuinely peeler-less until yesterday. The original peeler we got as a wedding gift fell apart about a year ago and the plastic handled thing we bought to replace it lasted only a few months before the blade started twirling round halfway through the first carrot so we chucked it out and kept forgetting to buy another. Now Tesco are offering me a FREE peeler. It's a no brainer. ManChild encourages me to go claim it for our household while he trolley-sits in the Toy and Book aisle.

In aisle 2 there's a very jolly girl in an apron standing by a wooden counter. There's clearly some demonstration about to happen and she beckons us closer to see. The demonstration is NOT for my free stainless steel peeler, but for a Mr Whipstir that froths milk, scrambles eggs and mushes potatoes. I am tempted to walk away but I want my free peeler.

I watch the demonstration. The jolly girl is very thorough. You can whizz skimmed milk with this thing and make it so thick that you can turn the container upsidedown and the froth does not fall out. I start to think about the lattes we could have at home for 17p rather than the ones in town for £2.85.

Watching jolly girl in the crowd is a woman with gorgeous red and orange hair - like flames tumbling down her back. The ends are almost luminous. I am shaving my head in about 3 weeks time to raise money for a local cancer charity. My friend, Lis, who is shaving it off for me is looking for a mad colour to dye her hair as shaving her's off completely would be awkward for her job. Maybe I've found the colour for her?

The demonstration continues with the miniature version of the Whipstir. Like its parent, Whipstir Jr also creates maximum froth with minimum effort. Madi appears at my side wondering why I've taken so long. We watch the rest of the demo together.

Jolly girl finishes up and starts handing out free stainless steel peelers to her audience. I get my free peeler. I also take a Mr & Jr Whipstir pack as I spontaneously decide to start Christmas shopping and did not bring a LIST today to prevent such impulse purchases. I realise I can no longer see Flame Haired Woman who must have taken off as soon as she got her free peeler.

Madi and me make our way back to Big Trolley, me glancing up each aisle for Flame Haired Woman. We don't see her. The boys are still by Big Trolley in Toy and Book aisle playing on their phones and  looking fed up. I present our free peeler. They are impressed. We like free things.

It's now even busier than it was when we got here. Which was a while ago. We make our way to the check outs. I'm heading for self service because in my head, this is still just a top up shop in a Big Trolley.

I suddenly locate Flame Haired Woman and dart off to speak to her without informing ManChild where I'm going or which direction he should continue walking in. I say 'Excuse me...' to her then launch into a full explanation of why I'm drawn to her and ask for details of the colour she uses and Please may I have a photo of your hair because it didn't feel right to sneak up behind you and photograph your head without consent. She initially appears a bit taken aback then realises I'm not a crazy stalker and agrees to the picture. Her hair looks like this.

ManChild is now more irritated as I bogged off to talk to a randomer and left him blocking the aisle with all the shopping and lots of people tutted at him. I sense that if these items were not for his birthday he would have already abandoned us. I also sense we should conclude the shopping experience swiftly.

We reach the self scanner. I place Granny Trolley on the scales and tap 'I brought my own bag'. The self service till does not believe us and a light flashes until Tom appears and overrides it and we begin scanning. Hmmm. There's a lot of stuff in Big Trolley. We scan the first few things before the scanner errors again. Tom comes over and overrides the system again and comments on the volume of things. Would we like to go to a till he asks. No, it's fine, I reply. We like scanning things. Although by this time Madi is playing on the railings by the checkout and J's on his phone catching Pokemon and pretending he is not here. Only ManChild is scanning things and muttering under his breath. Including the Whipstirs, we scan through almost £80 worth of items. The scales flash another 3 times. During this time another shopper tries to squeeze past Big Trolley and the railings. Madi tries to disentangle herself from them in a hurry to let her past, but forgets which way her legs bend and the shopper almost trips over her feet instead.

When we finish scanning there's too much stuff to fit into Granny Trolley, so we buy 4 carrier bags and load them up to bursting point. M and J isolate some items to consume now - like Frijj and cookies and tiger bread - so there will be less to carry home.

We get outside. It is raining. I stand in the drizzle and divvy up the tiger bread. ManChild refuses the bread and says he'll walk ahead. He grumpily takes the heaviest bags and strides off without saying goodbye. J empathises with his brother's discomfort but is not quite far enough into adolescence to be mad at me yet. Madi is 10 and can't understand why there's a problem.

I realise in that moment that as fun as it was to be 10 and as exciting as it was to have new freedoms at 16 and then 18, it's far more liberating to be 44 and not actually care if Tom or a Flame Haired Stranger thinks you're mental. Granny Trolley is heavy and it's raining and the journey home is almost all uphill, but I pretty much giggle to myself all the way there. M and J don't understand why, which only makes it funnier.

(Disclaimer: E has just viewed this account and claims he did not 'mutter under his breath,' but stated clearly and audibly 'This is stupid- we should go to a proper till' without muttering).

Crossing the line

Spawn X approaches me in an overly friendly, affectionate manner, given the conversation we last had and which he has not yet apologised for. The conversation, 24 hours previously, started out friendly enough and involved normal banter, in-family jokes and mild insults. But the conversation was long and there was an undercurrent of Nogadgetwednesday frustration which eventually crumbled into perpetual answering back. Think kid across the street from the McCallisters in HomeAlone, but instead of incessant questioning about the mileage, speed and 4 wheel drive capability of the airport shuttle bus, we had sarcasm. Yay. It might have been fascinating to watch from a sociological point of view, but by the time it got truly interesting I was barely hanging onto control of my own mouth to analyse the situation in a detached, reflective way. However, I am an adult. I possess the filters which Spawn X lacks. I therefore did not verbalise the many comments swirling in my head but dried the dishes with Spawn Y (both of us chanting la la la la la la until I became dizzy), while co-parent Z fielded the comments and comebacks. It was not a fun tea time.

X: I love you, mum.
Me: I love you too, mate.
X: Can I go on the computer?
Me: (Look of incredulity) Are you... forgetting something perhaps?
X: I'm sorry.
Me: (More of the Look)
X: I really am sorry.
Me: For what, exactly? I mean it's really nice to hear from you and everything, but I just want to be clear on this.
X: For being, as you so eloquently phrased it 'A total git'... And oh look you're smiling because it was quite funny- isn't it amazing that I can make you laugh about this?
Me: Yes, your gift is indeed your curse.
X: No, it's not my curse, its-
Me: No, no, no! This really is your curse. You're smart. You're witty. You're fun to be around. And you have NO idea where the line is.
X: See - I think I do know where the line is- I just don't care about crossing over it.
Me: But then this happens - so you need to learn to care. How can we stop things going there? We need a new gesture...

(We used to have a discreet 'You're crossing the line NOW' gesture that I could use on him in company without saying anything, but it backfired on a couple of occasions and lost effectiveness. We spend a ridiculous 60 seconds trying out new gestures, none of which could be used discreetly in the company of other people and one or two that could be construed as mildly offensive).

Me: None of these are working.
X: Hmmm. I shall need to give this some thought. I'll sleep on it and get back to you.
Me: That would be fantastic.

In or out?

J: So mum - what do you think we should do about Europe?

Me: I've not formally decided yet, but so far I've not heard a valid reason for leaving. I think if something's not broken then you shouldn't try to fix it, and if something is broken then you shouldn't chuck it away if there's no viable alternative. You should try to fix the broken thing you have.'

E: Unless it's a BT home hub, in which case you should just get rid of it and buy one that works.

QOTD

Scene 1
M: Mum!
Me: Yeah?
M: Can you come here a minute and just be with me?
Me: Why- what's up?
M: Because there's a wasp. And I'm practising being not scared.

Scene 2
(Following an argument between J and M that she is still upset about)
Me: ... So there's no excuse for him being rude to you, but don't think he doesn't love you anymore or anything. It's just hard being 12.
M: Ah, so it was a mood swing then.
Me: What do you know about mood swings?
M: You get them in puberty and they make you cross and sad and then happy again and you don't know why, but you don't need to panic about puberty -  they said on Operation Ouch.

Scene 3
(Re the management of said mood swings)
Me: Sometimes you'll feel upset at stuff that normally wouldn't bother you at all. And sometimes it's good to go off and be alone. And sometimes it's good to cry. And other times it's actually best to carry on like normal and pretend that you're not bothered at all, but that's really hard.
M: Like I did when I saw all those prawn crackers on the pavement.

Scene 4
J: Did I actually use proper words there because no one is listening to me!?
M: That's exactly how I feel when I ask for white chocolate Magnums.

Scene 5
J: Gran, can you NOT make something tasty for tea tonight - cause I'm not here.

Geek

A selection of owned and borrowed kids are in the garden playing, E is sat alone building a website. (He would spend every spare waking moment doing this unless given chores - which he happily does in exchange for coding time).
Me (to E): Do you want a friend over too?
E (dead pan): No. I don't have any friends.
Me: Poor you...
E: No it's fine. I've already had contact with other humans today.
Me: Babe, that's a bit geeky.
E: I dont need friends. I have Siri.

Lost and Found

(J is sullen and annoyed after I accidentally found him behind the ramp in the warehouse during a game of hide and seek)
Me: Sorry mate - but we were getting ready to leave anyway - and you won that round because Madi failed to find you.
M: Excuse me!! 'Failed'?!
J: See what's happened now? You've insulted us both.
M: (To self, shaking her head): This is such poor parenting....

Fixing broken things

• Kids can fall over and break themselves in the flatest and safest-looking of back gardens.

• Falling over in long trousers keeps dirt and teeny tiny stones out the wound. Especially if said trousers do not, for some inexplicable reason, become damaged themselves.

• Pain levels and blood loss do not always correlate to the severity of the injury.

• A child who is chilled enough not to mind you making a coffee in a travel mug before transporting him to A&E would probably also have waited quite calmly while you packed a toothbrush, phone charger and clean knickers.

• Vomiting / pyrexial toddlers out-rank walking wounded pre-teens. Be prepared to wait. A Long Time.

• If 3 doctors all take a look at your broken kid and pass the buck to someone else, he's probably more broken than you first thought.

• A pack of cards is far more useful than an iPad.

• After not eating for 9 hours, a turkey and stuffing sandwich is the tastiest thing you've ever eaten.

• A reclining chair next to your kid's bed is preferable to not being next to him (or not sleeping) at all.

• Even if your kid has a gaping hole in only one of his knees, the surgeon will helpfully draw a big arrow in marker pen just above the big hole, just in case they forget which one they are fixing.

• If previously used to describe the demise of your friend's cat, the term being 'Put to sleep' can cause some anxiety.

• A kind smile and an explanation will relieve much of the anxiety.

• Teenagers cannot live without their phones and will therefore have had the foresight to pack a charger. Befriend a broken teenager nearby and ask to borrow his.

• He may be grumpy and bored witless after 5 days of hospitalisation himself, but your pleading look may win him over and open up dialogue - and chatting with a middle aged woman you have nothing in common with is better than being bored. If one of you has ever had a rugby injury and the other one has given birth naturally at least once, you can share gas and air stories. Common ground- you just have to want to find it, you know?

• When you are blessed enough to have an National Health Service which is free at the point of delivery you can get a broken child fixed without carrying a wallet. You can dialogue with 3 doctors, an anaesthetist, a pharmacist, several porters and an array of nursing staff from all over the hospital who will clean, bandage and operate on your kid for FREE.

• They will feed him (and sometimes you - if he's Nil By Mouth) without asking for insurance details or payment up front. They will wheel him to whichever department he needs to go to next without offering to gazump a vomiting toddler if you divulge your card details. They will hug your newly-fixed kid and wave goodbye without demanding a backhander for doing their job.

• Most people in the NHS do their job incredibly well under increasingly difficult circumstances. EVERYONE we interacted with this week at both Lydney's walk in centre and the Gwent was kind, professional and efficient (or as efficient as they could be under the circumstances; - after waiting for 5 hours to see the A&E doctor, the first words out her mouth after telling us her name were, 'I'm really sorry you've had to wait so long. I'm here on my own tonight.')

• When you google a hospital and the complaints procedure is in a more prominent position than the switchboard number, there's something very wrong with the system, the attitude of the users of that system, or both.

• Start today. Say thank you for a good service you've experienced. Or for the service that a friend or relative has received.

• If the service was poor, don't post about it on Facebook. Or whinge to the person behind you in Tesco. And don't shoot the messenger - the doctor already apologised for making us wait 5 hours. She's not happy about it either. Being rude to the people on the ground does not change anything. Invest a little more time and complain in writing to the Executive Director of whichever Trust was involved.

Write to your MP. Find out who it is and how they vote on issues that concern you here:
http://www.theyworkforyou.com

Campaign here:
http://keepournhspublic.com
https://home.38degrees.org.uk/campaigns/

Happy letter writing...
From a satisfied mother of a service user.

#geekyvalentine

Exhibit 1: Minecraft firework display in the grounds of heart-shaped house (not digital cleavage, as angle may suggest).

Exhibit 2: Testing client websites knowing I would find this

Mind your language

I've never quite got to grasps with swearing. Social situations and generational differences dictate social norms in ways that fluctuate quite a lot which can be confusing for anyone, let alone a pre-teen whose peer group has recently exploded to 6 times the size it was before the Summer. And which now includes much less supervised adult time and far more exposure to people just like him who are all trying to decide who they are by loudly and confidently pushing the boundaries of risqué language now that there are no parents around.

Bedtime, October-ish, year 7
Him: Why is the world so confusing??! Some people say all kinds of stuff that doesn't make any sense.
Me: (Naively thinking this is about homework) Give me an example.
Him: I'll need to spell it out to you cause they aren't very nice words.
Me: Oh, OK. That's fine. Go for it.
Him: Well, I think I know this one, but D.I.C.K.
Me: That's a penis.
Him: (Congratulating himself) Yesssssss! OK - B.I.C.H.
Me: Bitch? (Nods at me) You can use that word properly to describe a female dog, but when people use that badly it's to insult a girl and be really mean to her. Usually for no good reason.
Him: Why compare a person to a dog?!? It's all a bit strange.
Me: I agree.
Him: I have a few more: Doing-it-in-a-girl's-bits-off.
Me: Fuck? (He nods). That's having sex.
Him: Yes, but 'Having sex off??!' That makes NO sense. It's not even proper English. I know that and I'm still learning to spell.
Me: I know babe. It's weird to me too.

Him: People should use their words properly! I'm going to have to tell Coby tomorrow because I'm pretty sure he doesn't know either.
Me: You're probably right there. The thing is - no one wants to be the first to ask the question in front of their mates as they think everyone else knows. It was like that when I was at school too.
Him: OK - Then there's G.A.Y.
Me: Gay? Tricky one. Who says that?
Him: Lots of people. They shout it to people to annoy them, like 'You're so G.A.Y!'
Me: Gay isn't a swear word, it's a feeing. It's when a boy doesn't fancy a girl but fancies another boy instead. Or a girl not wanting a boyfriend, but a girlfriend.
Him: That's so weird!
Me: I think so too - but not everyone feels that way. And it's hard because I think God doesn't want that for anyone but some people DO feel that way, maybe for their whole lives, maybe for just a little while and no one should be bullied for how they feel, should they?
Him: People say that a LOT in school.
Me: But just say someone - maybe even one of your friends - is all stressed out about it and is like 'Oh no - I think I fancy a boy!! And I have no one to talk to about it because if anyone finds out the whole class will know and I'll get called gay and be teased Every. Single. Day.
Him: That would be horrible.
Me: Which is why you never use gay to be mean to anyone. Or any word for that matter.

And then it hits me. Isn't the intention behind the use of language, or the purpose of using certain words or ideas - isn't that more important than the actual individual words we use? Or avoid using?

I mean - you can lie to someone to hurt them, which is not OK.
You can lie to someone to protect yourself out of cowardice - also not OK.
But you can lie to someone to protect their feelings and that's kind of noble.
Then you can lie to someone when you have a surprise birthday or holiday planned and that's completely OK, even though you lied.

And then there's the truth, which should be straightforward, but it's really not always that neutral.

You can tell the truth in order to hurt someone's feelings.
You can tell the truth to gossip.
You can tell the truth to manipulate a situation and gain favour with someone.
You can tell the truth and give far too much information than is useful or helpful or loving.
You can choose to tell the truth for completely the wrong reasons and be wrong in doing it even though what you said was technically correct.

Which brings us back to swearing, because I still don't have the consistent approach to the whole thing that my preteen seems to require.

Me: Do you end up thinking the words in your head just because you're hearing them a lot?
Him: (Sadly) Yes.
Me: Why.... Do you think you don't say those words too?
Him: I just don't think it's a good way to talk. And it's not 'me' - if you know what I mean.
Me: I know exactly what you mean.
Him: It's like I drift.. slowly... away... from God at school (demonstrates with his hands) and then at the weekend when I'm at church I sail right back to him (clasps hands together again).
Me: That's pretty cool actually. Because you can't ever drift away completely. He won't let you.

We talk and talk about this stuff for ages. So much so that ManChild comes upstairs to collect his shower things and hangs around in silence for a while (and maybe learns a thing or two, who knows?) when eventually we are all theorised out and I have to go downstairs because bedtime tonight has taken more than an hour and a half.

Him: Thanks for this. I'm going to write all these words down in case I forget them.
Me: Uh... OK. But where will you keep the notebook?? It has to be someplace safe where no one else can accidentally find it.

He decides on a safe place, which is so safe I'm sworn to secrecy and can't type it because that would be too much of the truth (see above). I continue my theorising downstairs in a more appropriate way with my husband, who can cope with most words in the English language - unless 'tidy up', 'unit' and 'skip' are used in the same sentence.

So.... There has to be a careful balancing of censorship vs freedom in any society that values democracy. It's essential to be able to challenge the status quo or campaign to change stuff that the powers that be are a bit too comfortable with. But isn't it miserable when that freedom is played out in an 11 year old's world with people not bothering to find creative alternatives to 'Fuck off' when they are only moderately (or not at all) irritated by something/someone? Surely the most extreme, emotive and potentially insulting vocabulary that exists in any language should be reserved for things that carry more weight and consequence? Things that mean something.

• the fluidity of the term 'terrorist'
• NHS funding cuts
• climate change
• corruption
• cancer
• injustice
• trident
• tax avoidance
• the arms trade
• FGM
• Walmart stocking guns but not Kinder eggs
• murder of 2 women/week by a partner (UK)
• preventable death of a child every 3 seconds
• carpet bombing civilians who didn't drown on their way to Calais
I don't like the way you just looked at me right now.

• I am full of adolescent bravado right now and you are annoying me
Fuck off

See the weirdness in all of this?

I am all over the place with this post because I'm actually typing my way towards a realisation that started in my head a long time ago that I need to now act on: Blogging / Facebooking / tweeting is a massive waste of time and I need to rein it in. Instead I need to fill my mind with stuff like this and constructive information about the issues listed above and start bugging the hell out of my MP again. Because I used to do this a lot and he's probably missing our correspondence.

BTW, the following bedtime was less intense, quicker and included a sentence I didn't anticipate ever saying to my kid: 'Babe, you forgot the 't' in 'bitch'...'

The weather

When our youngest was 3 and a half we sold her buggy on eBay and I purchased a corporate wardrobe of clothes. All within a six week period. My head still hurts a little bit to think about it. My relationship with modes of child transportation is not dissimilar to the one many grown men have with their motor vehicles and I don't enjoy clothes shopping unless it's for denim.

The whole thing was like Bam! - your pre-school stay-at-home years are over and your world is now juggling childcare with spreadsheets and never finding the dishwasher empty. Welcome to the season of always feeling like the thing you should be doing has sneakily been gazumped by the thing you're actually doing right now and sending the kids to breakfast club when they don't want to go because there's no bread or milk in the house. Again.

I missed the season I had just left. I actually missed it in the same kind of way as I missed the last few weeks of coupledom after child#1 arrived four and a half weeks early and then wouldn't sleep for longer than 45 minutes at a time unless the Hoover was on or he was attached to a boob. Hoover frequently lost. Neighbours get a little irritated if you try to vacuum at 3am.

I don't know if new seasons are hard purely because they are hard, or if they feel harder than they actually are because they are new and different and sometimes arrive when you're still dressed for the previous one. And when you're in the middle of a season it's hard to imagine life ever being any different one day. But the days gradually get warmer and the hours of daylight resolutely increase until one day you can't actually remember the last time you wore gloves - just that you don't need them anymore so maybe now's a good time to wash them because they stink of Wotsits.

And so it is with family stuff. Kids drift into and out of seasons so gradually sometimes that things can go completely undocumented until you look at old photos or spend time with a family who are at an earlier stage.

I don't know the last time child#1 asked me to read to him. It was years and years ago. He just gradually stopped asking and other things naturally took their place.

I don't know when child#2 last lined up all his Brio engines in front of the TV so they could watch 'Thomas & Friends' with him. Or when he finally stopped head butting nearby surfaces or the floor whenever he was cross.

I don't know when child#3 stopped her post shower game of wrapping herself in a bath sheet then curling up on the bathroom floor and barking until I arrived and unwrapped the towel to unexpectedly discover a puppy. Every. Single. Night. I might have recorded it just once if I'd not been absolutely sick of the game unable to envisage a time when we'd not be playing it anymore.

Today's weather:
• Child#1 enjoys reading lines and lines of spurious code off his laptop screen to me. These words are in English but their position next to each other in big long sentences (and I use that word rather loosely) means nothing. He's not good at addressing my questions without repeating the same meaningless words back at me in a slightly impatient voice, but he IS good at testing websites and new booking sites for work, finding typos and fixing broken code.

• Child#2 is the most laid back, sociable person I know. It's like a lifetime's worth of aggression was expressed in the first 3 years of his life and now the diplomacy gene is in overdrive. He hates conflict and often mediates between opposing viewpoints (either that or it's all there, waiting to explode again at puberty).

• Child#3 spends a long time after her shower sorting through her cuddly animal collection to select her 'bedtime crew' for the night so no one feels left out. Inspired by Sue Bentley's magic puppy books, she writes stories about talking dogs, draws pictures of sparkly dogs and would love to own a real live dog. We are not getting one. We own a low maintenance cat and 2 mice, who are a year old and therefore due to die off soon. 

I don't know when life got a bit saner. Maybe the season was so mental because too many different types of weather were all happening at once. I was most definitely still dressed for a different climate when it started.

Today's outlook: 

• Child#1 can be left in charge of Child#2 and Child#3 for short periods without expecting payment or major incident.

• Due to my redundancy by stealth programme, Child#1, #2 & #3 get up, dressed and organised for the day with minimal adult intervention, then journey to and from school independently.

• We still occasionally run out foodstuffs, but Lidl is just around the corner and everyone in the house is capable of going for bread and milk.*

Forecast: Who knows? These things are never accurate anyway. There will definitely be weather of some description.

* Except the cat- who is a pure free loader.

Going barefoot

Home [həʊm], noun

1. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.

2. the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.

3. an institution for the homeless, sick, etc.: a nursing home.

4. the dwelling place or retreat of an animal.

5. the place or region where something is native or most common.

6. any place of residence or refuge.

7. a person's native place or own country.

Scene 1: We are all at ManChild's new school for a scheduled progress update with his form tutor, a bloke who has known him for seven weeks. The conversation is short, positive and pretty much contains all the information we expect to hear. He works hard. He performs well. He behaves. He appears happy. He's abnormally good at maths, computer science and all things geek (the teacher does not actually use the word geek). He's VERY quiet.

Teachers have been saying similar things about him for the past ten years. And because teachers like goals and action plans and filling in paperwork which proves there are goals and action plans in place, they usually follow it up with 'If you know the answer, put your hand up.' But this teacher doesn't suggest that. This teacher has already discerned that on pretty much every single occasion when an answer is requested from the class, Manchild could probably provide the correct one but chooses not to. Unless he is asked outright - in which case he will provide the answer in a clear, concise way and not whisper something unintelligible while looking at his shoes as he did until year three. (See? That's progress right there). This teacher concludes with 'He's quiet, but it's obviously his personality and part of who he is. We won't try to change it.' 

I like this teacher. He gets my kid. We all go for a McDs tea to celebrate the geekiness and avoid the end-of-day traffic nightmare that is Bristol every weekday evening.

Scene 2: It's 3am and me and a friend are in the 24/7 prayer room, working our way around the stations from opposite directions so it's like being there alone. We're both in our jammies. The heating is on. It feels like the rest of the whole world is asleep and it's wonderful. Thermos of tea in hand, I plod barefooted around the carpeted room having abandoned my crocs at the door. It's a lot like being at home. But it's church. But not church as we know it because there's all this creative prayer clutter all over the place that's helping me think and pray and formulate thoughts about what I believe and why. I sit for the longest time at the foot of a wooden cross which has been upcycled from an old pallet, reading Psalm 65 from The Message:

Blessed are the chosen! Blessed the guest
at home in your place!
We expect our fill of good things
in your house, your heavenly manse.

I am fixated by the home thing and make a list about what HOME means:

Shelter

Basic needs met

Family

Love

Communal living

Discipline
Getting along after an argument

Bringing friends round for tea

Boundaries / structure

Fun

Entitlement / inheritance

Chores
Responsibility

Belonging

Being understood

The first thing I do when I get home is kick off my shoes and put the kettle on. It's all tied in with relaxing and being at home in your own space. (If you ever find yourself in a position where can do this in someone else's house too, then this is a wonderful thing. Hang onto that friend).

So being at home in church - what does that mean when you're NOT wandering around there barefoot and in your jammies (i.e. most of the time)?

It can't be a license for a 'This is who I am and I'm not changing' type of thing. That's kind of arrogant and puts huge limitations on what God is capable / incapable of. He's paid the mortgage and legally owns the house.

But equally, having a healthy sense of who we are and how we belong is a liberating thing and actually frees us from the tyranny of comparison. The form tutor who has known ManChild for a mere half term can already make observations about his character and adjust his approach accordingly - because he understands something of the raw material in front of him.

So how much MORE so does God? The one who knows and understands our deepest thoughts and motives when we don't even get them ourselves? The one who always knew we would be. The one who created the raw material in the first place?

Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat—I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? (Luke 9:23-25)

The real you. I love that. 

I'll never be a worship leader. But I'm not meant to be. I'm meant to be a worshipper. 

I'll never be a teacher. But I'm not meant to be. I'm meant to locate good teaching, listen to and apply it, ask questions when I need to and share what I learn along the way. To be teachable.

I'm really, really not a morning person. I have tried the whole get up early to exercise / read / bake cookies nonsense. It really doesn't work. But I can do creative middle of the night barefooted praying in my jammies with sharpie in one hand and cup of tea in the other.

There are other goals on the action plan. I won't bore you with the details. But the form tutor gets well excited when I reach them.