Made Your Shiny Back To School Resolutions Yet?

There's something about September that makes me want to go gung ho with a new batch of fresh and risky resolutions.

In a way, September has more meaning to it than the cold, headachey misery of the first of January when you're supposed to do something inspired with beef off-cuts and start to reduce your alcohol intake. Immediately.

I remember the heady days when a new school term meant the unmitigated joy of new exercise books and text books you got to cover in that sticky backed plastic stuff - which always created bubbles no matter how much you smoothed it out.

Gleaming new tins of mathematical 'instruments' - a protractor, a compass and one of those strange half-circles of plastic for doing something with angles. Lovely sharp pencils, a new bottle of ink (ink!!!) or some cartridges for your pen.  It all sounds positively Dickensian now, doesn't it?

Now I'm a grown-up (cough), I like to meet the onset of autumn with yet another list of ways in which I will finally improve, dammit.

For example:-

* not wearing my blue dressing gown at every given opportunity (the Husband says I look like a blue polar bear in it)

*  being patient with the kids and not shouting so much.  Often difficult.

Whilst 'glamping' last year I regaled the campsite one morning with one of those phrases only parents get to use, viz "I hope you're not torturing those ruddy chickens".

This is decidedly not the level of saccharine plastic parenthood I feel compelled to reach for having read one of the 'green parenting' magazines where there is much floral-ness and all the men have beards.  Heck, even the chickens have beards.

* have two alcohol free days in a week.  Please note I have not yet decided which week.

* wearing matching underwear and remaining fuzz free.

This is not easy when your natural tendency is to cocoon yourself in Damart and indulge your inner wookee.

* glam up a bit for the school run.

On a good day I've brushed my teeth and had a wash but there's always that one mum who is obviously studying for a diploma in Beauty Therapy and looks groomed and glossy.

*  read the kids a bedtime story.

Hands-up this one's a bit infrequent because by the time we've rounded them up, wrestled with them, timed their tooth cleaning and hugged them 72 times it's way past lights out.

* cook rather than reheat.

In reality this will probably mean pasta with tomato sauce and bacon twice, rather than one a week. But I may well go 'mad' and bake another cake.

* have a social life.  Oh alright, I made that one up.

What about

* have a regular house-cleaning schedule.

Hmm.  My days are generally filled as it is with much wiping down of tables, shouting about towels and bare toilet rolls and moaning that the butter has been left out of the fridge again.

It's funny, isn't it, that we have a whole list of resolutions that we feel we ought to do rather than want to.

Now if I were to write my real resolutions they'd be

* book a babysitter and go out with the husband more
*write a novel
*visit Venice, Vienna, Paris, Berlin and Barcelona
*have unorganised, spontaneous fun with the kids
*bloody well learn to relax

You know what?  I've a strange suspicion that if I did those everything else might just fall into place.

Why don't you write your real resolutions list - you might be surprised what's on it!

And the chickens were fine by the way.

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My Sunday Photo - 16/08/2015

Ieuan wants to learn to drive already!

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Are The Record A Level Results A Smokescreen?

After another year of 'record' A level results in which pictures of leaping teenagers filled the papers, the collective sigh of exasperation from those of us churned out by the UK Education System in the 70's and 80's could probably be heard on the continent.

The arguments about the dumbing down of examination standards and the number of 'silly' subjects offered in colleges and universities continues apace (a degree in Fashion Knitwear anyone?) but actually, does the subject really matter that much anymore?

If most students are leaving with multiple A grades, how are universities and employers supposed to select the most appropriate candidates for courses and jobs?  What is the point in an examination system which does little to aid selection?

Of course pupils have worked hard and in no way do I want to detract from their efforts and the stress they have just gone through to achieve their grades.

But, really, I can't escape the feeling that somehow, somewhere, we are letting them down.  That something is not quite right.

If you wanted to be cynical, you could say that it is in the Government's interest to keep pass rates high so that our children are funnelled through the system to Universities where they do not impact on unemployment figures.

But isn't this just deferring the problem?  Where are the apprenticeships which teach a trade?  Can't we find something better to offer those kids who don't really want to go to university than shift work in a call-centre, shovelling fries or a 'zero hours' contract from retailers who treat their employees like a cheap and endlessly replaceable resource?

And what a start to your working life to be saddled with a huge student loan and debts from the cost of living added on to boot.

The irony, of course, is that in a few years nobody will give two hoots about the A Levels achieved. The focus will be on degrees and experience.

An employer who needs to fill a vacancy quickly is more likely to choose the candidate with previous experience than the bright young star with a shiny collection of A Grades.  

Past experience supervising work experience candidates and trainees has also taught me that even if they are well qualified, sometimes kids have absolutely no concept of what it is to work - even the basics like dressing appropriately, turning up on time, meeting deadlines and treating seniors with respect.

I could tell you tales of interns caught watching adult websites on the office PC or playing computer games on their Nintendo DS when they thought the boss wasn't looking.

Perhaps an increased focus on getting our young people ready for work (for those opportunities that actually do exist) would be more useful than the A Level pressure cooker which produces one seemingly homogenized candidate soup.

I think the 'record A Level results' celebration which happens every year now is a massive smoke screen.

And when the smoke finally clears, there'll be far fewer young people jumping for joy.

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Left Out On A Playdate? The Woes of the Stroppy Sibling.

Caitlin had a friend over to play today and much fun was had by the two girls.  Ieuan, on the other hand, floated about like the spectre of death at a wedding.

I have to admit, attempts to get in touch with his friends haven't been that successful but, by and large, I haven't worried about it too much, figuring that time in the loving bosom of his family (cough) should suffice.    How wrong I was.

Now we are at the arsenic stage of the summer holidays when kids are really missing their school pals and the novelty of late nights, iPads and probably far too much junk TV is wearing thin.

Yes, yes, before you say it, I know we should have been up at dawn, covered in goose grease and ready to yomp up the Brecon Beacons, all gung-ho Bear Grylls stylee with the enthusiasm of an excited Louis Spence thrown in for good measure.  But we weren't.  The Husband is off doing something technical in London again and so it's my paltry attempts at single motherhood with all the good humour of Anne Hegarty on ITV's "The Chase".

Ieuan wandered around with his best 'devil child' pout.  "I want friends overrrrrrr.  I want to play with boys. They're leaving me out" (They weren't).

I offered him numerous forms of entertainment and items containing sugar but these found no favour.
He flounced, he stropped, he did some Rupert Everett style languishing.  All he needed was a silk dressing gown and a dry Martini (actually that'll be mine) and he'd have had the look off to a tee.

I have explained that Caitlin will want time to play with her friends as he would want time with his when they (hopefully!) arrive.

It's always difficult to know how much supervision is required on play-dates.  I avoid being Mary Poppins on Speed - you know the type, the crafting scissors are out before you've taken your shoes off - in favour of someone a little more relaxed (obviously I struggle) and willing to let the kids enjoy themselves without being stifled by someone with an unholy fear of them burning the house down.

By and large, I think I have the balance right.  But entertaining 'the spare' on a play date must be many a mother's challenge, particularly in the school holidays.

Eventually the situation was rectified by the early arrival of The Husband who took Grump Junior off for a hair-cut and a lolly.

But I think I'm going to need a better future strategy than that.

Otherwise, Ieuan's going to end up bald.

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Why is disciplining your kids so difficult?

Much as I love my two, I swear that as soon as their father goes off to work for a couple of days and the door closes behind him, they both hatch the latest plot entitled "let's you and me make mummy get mad and shout".

The basis of this game involves:-

*  pretending not to understand basic life skills such as applying toothpaste to a brush, remembering to flush the toilet or brush their hair

*  adopting "the voice" - a cross between a wheedle, a whine and a bleat.  It's like being accosted by melancholic sheep wherever you turn.

*  shouting for me at the top of their lungs like a machine gun "mum,mum,mum,mum".  This is always done outside for full effect.

* having to be told at least 5 (count 'em) times to do anything

* completely ignoring the last 5 instructions and, when confronted, smirking - smirking!!!  A red rag to a, er heffer, that one.

* developing weird physical symptoms and claiming to be in the throes of some odd fever or sickness.  This is usually announced by "my tummy feels weird" and then behaving like an auditionee for Holby.

* endlessly (and I mean endlessly) using all those words that make you wince (especially when announced in the library). These words are often helpfully strung together  - viz "bumfoofytodgetodgeboobiedoobiebum".  N.B. trying to pass this off as the New Zealand Haka rarely works.

*appearing approximately 90 minutes after being put to bed, still wide awake but claiming to have had a dream in which somebody somewhere in some guise or other was being something or other and had upset them.

* announcing that nobody in this house loves them and they are leaving home.  (So soon!)

* refusing to leave home before their bedtime milk and cuddle and then deciding to stay after all.

I know that they are testing the boundaries and that discipline (correctly applied - and no I'm not talking about physical discipline) should help them to feel loved, protected and safe but why does nobody tell you how awful it makes you feel?

After a day like today, I feel totally wrung out and like I've failed.  Again. All those helpful childcare tomes focus on the desired results of discipline on the child, but rarely do we receive advice about what to do when your kids make you feel like Mother Gothel in Disney's Rapunzel.

It is an endless battle which we parents never know if we're winning or not because as soon as you feel the little darlings are behaving or they have an exemplary day, you can bet it will all go pear-shaped the next day.

Sometimes I wonder what on earth I'm teaching them.  Do I actually believe the rules I'm setting are right, valid or effective? But then I remember that society needs us to bring our kids up right so that they are not screaming little banshees running amok in Tesco or irritating plane passengers. It's about encouraging individuality whilst ensuring our children fit in.  Because, make no mistake, a lot of success in life boils down to 'fitting in'.

If I stop and listen, of course, the voices I hear are those of my parents.  We're all just doing our best, aren't we?

Occasionally I wish I could be one of those chilled, macrobiotic types who operates entirely through the focus of mindfulness and universal love.

But I can't bear mess on the carpet, wet towels on beds and why in God's name does nobody EVER replace the toilet roll.

All is peaceful at the moment.  There is a lull in hostilities while they snooze and I sit on the sofa and reflect how much I love them.  The little buggers.

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My Sunday Photo - 09/08/2015

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Why are we so afraid to let our kids experience boredom?

We're half way through the summer holidays and the guides to helping your kids deal with boredom are starting to appear.  Ah, boredom, the terrible malaise which strikes when the iPad charger is lost and there's nothing on TV (which seems to be the general state of affairs these days anyway).

Reading a book can take them to another world

Why are we so afraid to let our kids experience boredom?

For those of us who grew up in the 70's, boredom came with the territory. The summer school holidays seemed truly endless. I'm sure we all irritated our parents beyond measure with the constant, buzzing drone of "but what can we do now?".  The response I used to get was, generally, "go and read a book".

We were in Waterstones in Worcester the other day and it was a revelation for Caitlin who, already an excellent reader, is beginning to discover that reading a good book is far more enjoyable than playing with the acreage of over-priced plastic attached to the front of children's 'magazines' or the latest toy-du-jour which often barely survives the first 24 hours with my two's rigorous style of play.

I bet there are thousands of kids who could quote from all of the Harry Potter films but who have never picked up the actual books.  This may be because their parents do not read to them of course, and with today's hectic work schedules for many, the bedtime story is an unfortunate casualty.

When I studied English Literature at University of Wales Swansea in the 80's (yes, that long ago), I remember we were told that you had to read a book at least 4 times before you could really start to understand its themes, its political and social context, the breadth and depth of its imagery.  Novelists leave within their works a tantilising glimpse into the politics, history and psychology of the day.  

When we read a novel we create the characters and interpret the events that happen to them in a way that has meaning for us.  When we see the film, these decisions have largely been taken out of our hands.  We miss the chance to process what has happened in our own lives against the backdrop of the story.

A book can change us in the way that a film can't.

That's why initiatives like World Book Day are so important.  It is also why I hope that our bookshops survive.  I suspect that many will pick up the book to see what it's like but then purchase from Amazon to save a few pounds.  Sometimes though, the book you pick up is so compelling that you buy it there and then. It's an old fashioned sentiment possibly but much though I love my Kindle, there is nothing like a proper, crisp, hard-copy book.

It is also the reason why we lose our public libraries at our peril.  They are fantastic free resources for cash- and patience-strapped parents where kids can spend hours colouring, reading, enjoying reading schemes and craft activities and hanging out with their friends.

Our kids today lurch from one form of stimulation to another - I should probably call it iStimulation. And yes, with no small degree of irony can we say that some of them are turning positively android.

Of course, dealing with bored children is one of the key tests of our parenting abilities, but it is surely impossible to spend every waking moment with an activity schedule, a list of local attractions and a bottomless purse.

You cannot force fun.  You can create family togetherness.  You can forge stronger bonds through shared experience but each of us needs that time to discover who we are, no matter what our age.

Let's redefine boredom.  Let's call it "a chance to think unencumbered by unnecessary stimuli".  A chance, in fact, to have your own thoughts and time to learn how to marshal them.

And one of the best ways to learn about life within a secure and comforting space is within the pages of a book.

What better gift to give your kids?

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