It is 4.15pm on Friday afternoon. We arrive at the childrens’ weekly swimming lesson late as usual. The children are tired after the long school week and the Toddler is furious at the prospect of being a spectator once again. The problem is swimming lessons are like gold dust. Like many others, we have spent months on a waiting list and when the phone rang with an offer of a place, albeit at the worst possible time, I had to grab it.
I try and drum up some enthusiasm as the children lag behind me with their swimming bags. The four-year-old has just woken from a deep sleep in the car and is adamant he will not be co-operating. Shoes and socks removed, we pad around the damp floor of the overheated changing rooms. I try not to think about the amount of other bare feet that have done the same thing that day. Five minutes late and £5 already wasted, I undress the children at record speed. On the poolside, it feels like we are entering a sauna and The Toddler and I are gradually overheating in our winter woollies. I am life guarding him and virtually pin him down as he periodically attempts to take a flying leap into the pool to join the others, or just cool down.
While on duty, my mind wanders back to when I learnt to swim. The swimming pool was never heated at school and we were forced to swim come rain or shine. With arm bands removed by my teacher, I began the mammoth task of doggy paddling across the pool, my head bent upwards to the sky to avoid gulpfuls of water. My teacher, wrapped in a warm parka, shouted, “Do not touch the bottom of the pool.” I remember wondering why anyone enjoys swimming and as a result, I have been put off it for life. My husband’s experience was even worse. He recalls being thrown in the pool and having to madly doggy paddle to the edge. At the point when he thought he would submit to the water and drown, he felt a tug on the back of his Speedos as the teacher hooked him up in the air above the water on a long pole.
So, why am I subjecting my children to the whole swimming lesson lark, when they are tired and hungry on a Friday afternoon. Because us parents have this strange distorted belief that the ability to swim, along with riding a bicycle, and playing a whole range of sport and musical instruments and all by the age of seven are all essential for our beloved super human children. Perhaps we would all benefit from spending our Friday afternoons sitting in front of the fire with a cup of cocoa, watching Jackanory.
Friday, 28 March 2008
Friday, 21 March 2008
The Puppy
We are now fully relaxed and recuperated after our two-week holiday. The children are settled back into school and I have finally reached the bottom of the holiday washing basket. One evening, as I was flicking through my favourite sections of the Blackmore Vale, namely Property and Pets, I came across an advertisement for Black Labrador Puppies. Of course, these adverts are not uncommon but on this occasion I felt drawn to calling the number. Fatal, I hear you say.
We had been planning to get another dog for many months, to give Molly, our border terrorist, a sibling. However, a bit like waiting for your child to walk before planning a second one, my plan was to wait until The Toddler was potty trained before getting The Puppy. I would love to say that I have succeeded and have kissed goodbye to nappies for good, but sadly The Toddler relapsed during our two-week break, so we have had to start the long torturous process again. Now, I digress. Having enquired about the puppies, we went and saw them and within days were the proud, but slightly nervous owners of Clover, a nine-week-old black Labrador.
The children were thrilled although I suspect this will be short-lived, once her small teeth become even sharper and she is chewing into a beloved Spiderman slipper or some nice juicy Toddler toes. The border terrorist is also pretty pleased with her new companion and was happy to give up her bed beside the Aga within a day. She has also learnt to eat at double the pace in the fear that The Puppy will turn her attention to her bowl, in true Labrador style.
So, here I am potty training and rearing The Toddler and The Puppy side by side. In fact, my observations tell me that they are very similar and the same disciplining techniques are effective with both. With accidents, both are swiftly placed either on a potty or on the grass, the Toddler is reminded to say ‘Thank you’ when I put his plate in front of him, just as The Puppy has learnt to ‘Sit’ before hers and the same stern, serious voice is applied to both. However, I have had to train the Toddler not to chew on the small puppy bone that he discovered lying in the grass yesterday.
Many people have remarked, “How are you coping?” Well, the mop and bucket is now a permanent fixture in the corner of my kitchen and my arm muscles are firming up nicely, with the amount of ‘slooshing’ I am doing. My attitude is if I am housebound with The Toddler, I may as well throw a puppy into the mix. I know what you are thinking – the woman’s barking mad, and perhaps I am!
We had been planning to get another dog for many months, to give Molly, our border terrorist, a sibling. However, a bit like waiting for your child to walk before planning a second one, my plan was to wait until The Toddler was potty trained before getting The Puppy. I would love to say that I have succeeded and have kissed goodbye to nappies for good, but sadly The Toddler relapsed during our two-week break, so we have had to start the long torturous process again. Now, I digress. Having enquired about the puppies, we went and saw them and within days were the proud, but slightly nervous owners of Clover, a nine-week-old black Labrador.
The children were thrilled although I suspect this will be short-lived, once her small teeth become even sharper and she is chewing into a beloved Spiderman slipper or some nice juicy Toddler toes. The border terrorist is also pretty pleased with her new companion and was happy to give up her bed beside the Aga within a day. She has also learnt to eat at double the pace in the fear that The Puppy will turn her attention to her bowl, in true Labrador style.
So, here I am potty training and rearing The Toddler and The Puppy side by side. In fact, my observations tell me that they are very similar and the same disciplining techniques are effective with both. With accidents, both are swiftly placed either on a potty or on the grass, the Toddler is reminded to say ‘Thank you’ when I put his plate in front of him, just as The Puppy has learnt to ‘Sit’ before hers and the same stern, serious voice is applied to both. However, I have had to train the Toddler not to chew on the small puppy bone that he discovered lying in the grass yesterday.
Many people have remarked, “How are you coping?” Well, the mop and bucket is now a permanent fixture in the corner of my kitchen and my arm muscles are firming up nicely, with the amount of ‘slooshing’ I am doing. My attitude is if I am housebound with The Toddler, I may as well throw a puppy into the mix. I know what you are thinking – the woman’s barking mad, and perhaps I am!
Friday, 14 March 2008
The Jungle
We have now enjoyed a week of our holiday in Cambodia on the beach and beside the pool. My brother arrives one morning and says, “I think it would be fun to go up to the jungle for the weekend.” My husband and I look at each other. Had he momentarily forgotten that we have a six, four and two-year-old. He assures me the children will love it and that we have to experience the ‘real’ Cambodia.
We relent and set off on our expedition armed with numerous cans of mosquito repellant. We strap the travel cot to the back of the car; one of my conditions on going. Our four-year-old son is ecstatic and dressed the part in full camouflage, ready to fight off “snakes and local baddies”. Half way there, the car overheats and we come to an abrupt standstill. Needless to say, we are in the middle of nowhere and an AA call-out is out of the question. We donate our bottled water and turn to a nearby river for help. Finally, we set off again and later arrive at our destination, Kep Lodge. We are greeted by a variety of dogs, which instantly throws me into a panic as I had been warned that they were highly unpredictable with children. Laden down with children, bags and the travel cot, we are led to our accommodation; a large wooden hut on stilts with a straw roof. Below it is a pond which looks as though it could well be the home to a few crocodiles. “It looks like the family rooms are the most basic,” my brother says, highly amused.
If it had been our gap year, with just a backpack and not a care in the world, this place would have taken our breath away. However, as a parent I was struggling. As night falls and the children lie asleep next door beneath their mosquito nets, we listen to the jungle noises around us. “They will be all right next door won’t they?” I say. Five minutes later, we are moving the three children into our bed and bolting the doors and windows. Later, we are woken by loud thuds on the roof followed by screeching. My husband jumps out of bed ready to face our intruder, but soon realises it is probably some lively monkeys. I am ecstatic when the sun rises. I untangle myself from the mosquito net and step out of bed. There on the wooden floor is a spider the size of my hand. The children giggle with delight. The final straw is the two enormous tree frogs staring up at me in the bathroom.
On reflection, the children revelled in the whole jungle experience but my husband and I were stuck in ‘parent mode’. We were in the zone of wet wipes and travel cots, rather than rustic huts and jungle wildlife. One day we’ll return though, barefooted and child-free to take on the jungle again.
We relent and set off on our expedition armed with numerous cans of mosquito repellant. We strap the travel cot to the back of the car; one of my conditions on going. Our four-year-old son is ecstatic and dressed the part in full camouflage, ready to fight off “snakes and local baddies”. Half way there, the car overheats and we come to an abrupt standstill. Needless to say, we are in the middle of nowhere and an AA call-out is out of the question. We donate our bottled water and turn to a nearby river for help. Finally, we set off again and later arrive at our destination, Kep Lodge. We are greeted by a variety of dogs, which instantly throws me into a panic as I had been warned that they were highly unpredictable with children. Laden down with children, bags and the travel cot, we are led to our accommodation; a large wooden hut on stilts with a straw roof. Below it is a pond which looks as though it could well be the home to a few crocodiles. “It looks like the family rooms are the most basic,” my brother says, highly amused.
If it had been our gap year, with just a backpack and not a care in the world, this place would have taken our breath away. However, as a parent I was struggling. As night falls and the children lie asleep next door beneath their mosquito nets, we listen to the jungle noises around us. “They will be all right next door won’t they?” I say. Five minutes later, we are moving the three children into our bed and bolting the doors and windows. Later, we are woken by loud thuds on the roof followed by screeching. My husband jumps out of bed ready to face our intruder, but soon realises it is probably some lively monkeys. I am ecstatic when the sun rises. I untangle myself from the mosquito net and step out of bed. There on the wooden floor is a spider the size of my hand. The children giggle with delight. The final straw is the two enormous tree frogs staring up at me in the bathroom.
On reflection, the children revelled in the whole jungle experience but my husband and I were stuck in ‘parent mode’. We were in the zone of wet wipes and travel cots, rather than rustic huts and jungle wildlife. One day we’ll return though, barefooted and child-free to take on the jungle again.
Friday, 7 March 2008
The aeroplane
We are on our way to visit my brother and sister-in-law. The problem is it involves a two hour car journey to Heathrow, a 13 hour overnight flight to Singapore topped off with a 2 hour flight to Phonm Penh in Cambodia.
I feel the glare of other passengers as the children run down the corridor to the cabin door of the plane with shrieks of excitement. We take our seats and are greeted by some friendly cabin crew. We wait for the other passengers to board and watch as they frantically check their seat numbers, praying they are not beside the young family.
I am apprehensive as The Toddler’s experience of travel is limited. I am convinced though that the television screens on the back of the seats will save the day and he will be engrossed in Dora the Explorer for a few hours. However, he yells when I attempt to put his earphones on, which promptly slip straight down his face. By now, he bored of sitting in his seat and decides it is time to get down before we have even taken off. I smile sweetly at the air hostess as my hand presses firmly down on his belt clasp pinning him to his seat. He hollows and shrieks, drowning out the Captain’s welcoming words. I feel like screaming out, “Forget the pleasantries, just get this aircraft moving.”
Finally, we are on our way and for the next few hours we pace up and down the plane, hand in hand with The Toddler, much to the annoyance of the cabin crew and their trolleys. Eventually, he is defeated by sleep, much to the relief of the suited man in front of us who has had to endure a small pair of Crocs kicking the back of his seat throughout supper. With the lights now dimmed, and everyone reclining their chairs for the night, the Toddler awakes, screaming at full pelt. I am in total panic and try to console him. “Do you want to sit on Mummy’s knee, have a cuddle or a gallon of chocolate?” People begin turning round putting me under more pressure and I run out of options. I lock us both in the loo and stay there for half an hour until the screams subside and he falls asleep. I return to my seat and carefully place him in his seat with his head on my lap. And there he remains for the next six hours. Meanwhile, I am motionless, not moving an inch for fear of waking him. My feet begin to tingle, my legs are totally numb and my hands are incapable of reaching into my bag for my book. I resort to reading the safety instructions in the back of the seat and wonder if it will all be worth it when we get there.
I feel the glare of other passengers as the children run down the corridor to the cabin door of the plane with shrieks of excitement. We take our seats and are greeted by some friendly cabin crew. We wait for the other passengers to board and watch as they frantically check their seat numbers, praying they are not beside the young family.
I am apprehensive as The Toddler’s experience of travel is limited. I am convinced though that the television screens on the back of the seats will save the day and he will be engrossed in Dora the Explorer for a few hours. However, he yells when I attempt to put his earphones on, which promptly slip straight down his face. By now, he bored of sitting in his seat and decides it is time to get down before we have even taken off. I smile sweetly at the air hostess as my hand presses firmly down on his belt clasp pinning him to his seat. He hollows and shrieks, drowning out the Captain’s welcoming words. I feel like screaming out, “Forget the pleasantries, just get this aircraft moving.”
Finally, we are on our way and for the next few hours we pace up and down the plane, hand in hand with The Toddler, much to the annoyance of the cabin crew and their trolleys. Eventually, he is defeated by sleep, much to the relief of the suited man in front of us who has had to endure a small pair of Crocs kicking the back of his seat throughout supper. With the lights now dimmed, and everyone reclining their chairs for the night, the Toddler awakes, screaming at full pelt. I am in total panic and try to console him. “Do you want to sit on Mummy’s knee, have a cuddle or a gallon of chocolate?” People begin turning round putting me under more pressure and I run out of options. I lock us both in the loo and stay there for half an hour until the screams subside and he falls asleep. I return to my seat and carefully place him in his seat with his head on my lap. And there he remains for the next six hours. Meanwhile, I am motionless, not moving an inch for fear of waking him. My feet begin to tingle, my legs are totally numb and my hands are incapable of reaching into my bag for my book. I resort to reading the safety instructions in the back of the seat and wonder if it will all be worth it when we get there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)