Running away from the mums' race

It's school sports day season. That anxiety filled time for every headteacher (pray it doesn't rain), every sport hating child and every slow running parent.  

I'm the latter and I'm afraid of the mums' race.

To make it worse, I'm a slow runner with a bit of a competitive streak.This competitive streak doesn't come out very often but recently reared its ugly head at a wedding.

The ladies were asked to discard their stilettos and run towards the camera. I guess the aim was to bring some 'movement' to the picture and get the already-slightly-drunk ladies laughing. It was hot and whilst most of them were wondering if we'd ever get the spindly heels back on to our (already swollen) feet, I seemed to be taking the running request a bit too seriously. The picture is below and I don't think I need to tell you which one is me.

 

Anyway, back to the sports day.

Last year Dad went, son won one race, Dad exited before the parent's race took place. Dads can get away with that but I'm unable to leave anywhere quietly. So this year I'm going and I decided to test the importance of participating in the Mums' race, by asking my six year old.

It went like this:    

Me: Do you think I should go in the Mums' race on sportsday?
Son: Mummy (giggles) you are a really BAD runner
Me: Yes I know that (!), but would you rather me sit on the side while all the other mummies run, or take part for fun?
Son: Please don't go in the running race Mum.

  

So I simultaneously jumped for joy and died just a little bit inside. Yes a get-out clause, but damn my child is ALREADY ashamed of me. It's not really the speed he's embarrassed about, it's definitely more the way I run. I play rugby and he doesn't laugh at the scrum cap or the comedy tackling, yet he always laughs at the idea of me trying to run for the line with a ball (so does my coach).

So what to do? Well I can't think of a good enough excuse not to participate (embarrassing my son doesn't count, that's a requirement). So I now need to decide whether I run as fast as I possibly can and risk looking like I'm trying too hard; OR I quash my competitive spirit and just do a slow jog - which is about the same speed as my sprint, but more casual looking.

My only saving grace is that the fastest mum has the same name as me, so if they publish the results,  I'm a winner anyway :)
 

Surviving your first school year

Parent pressure has reared its ugly head for me this week, as we all counted down to the last day of term.

Thank you gifts for the teacher.

Throughout this week I've been hearing snippets of conversations about goodies being bought and handmade gifts being prepared. I've asked my own friends what they're doing and quietly taken in their replies.

So by Thursday evening I was feeling in a bit of a panic. As I looked down at the cards my son had written for his teacher and teaching assistants, I started to wonder if it was enough.

Not because I didn't think a card was enough, but because for a fleeting moment I was worried about turning up at school without the required gift bag.

Required by whom? Not the teacher I'm sure.  Gifts aren't like dinner money, they won't be chasing me for payment. Yet many parents buy presents simply because 'everyone else does it'.

The only pressure I was feeling was, indirectly, from other parents and the stories I'd been hearing about the preparations for this big day.  It still wasn't enough to do more than the cards but it had made me stop and think.

So I put it out on Facebook (as you do) and asked why the big gifts for teacher obsession?

I got a big range of responses. Different people do different things for all sorts of different reasons. And they probably don't care or notice what I'm doing. Absolutely no one is judging.

So as we come to the end of our first school year, what have I learned as a parent?

I've learned that we put the pressure on ourselves. The best thing you can do is have the courage of your own convictions and the confidence to do what feels right for you.

If that means buying every member of staff a lottery ticket, then that's great. If it means a simple thank you and a smile by the school gate, that's perfect too.

Don't do things because everyone else does, do it because you want to, and then try not to worry about it. Second guessing just takes too much time and energy ( I should know!)

Phew. I hope the second year is easier.

She wears velour

Dressed in grey she says goodnight

Closes her eyes and holds him tight

Listens to him snore away

Thinks about another day

She hears?

A cry to pierce the silent house

Footsteps quiet....a night time mouse?

Across the hall it creeps, until

it stops....then it is still

A voice

WAKEY WAKEY! right in her face

(can't she be some other place?)

A snotty smile before her stands,

Giggles loud then grabs her hands

She sighs

With heavy heart and mansize bags

She heaves her weight, her stomach sags

The scars she bears, the price she pays

For creating life as her hopes fade

She moves

Across the hall, “Now back to bed

You gorgeous *testing* sleepy head,

It's 2am not time to wake”

No waiting for the day to break

She's tired

Tired of sleeping off and on

Of seeing day at half past one

Of greying whites and hairy legs

Of eating slops and drinking dregs

She's lost

Lost in a haze of night and day

Of never putting things away

In their right place (she found the milk

Underneath the kitchen sink)

It's sour

Sour milk, burnt toast

Looking like she's seen a ghost

And all because she hasn't slept

For five years now, her self unkempt

Caffeine

The only thing to right her day

And wipe the sleepless nights away

(That and smiles of kids at play

their faces swipe your cares away)

She laughs

She smiles inside although she weeps

(cos all she wants is bloody sleep!)

Still - they give her so much joy

This snotty girl and cheeky boy

She's fine

Wine you say? of course she will

It helps her sleep, makes her still

Tomorrow that's another day

Try not to wish this life away...

She dreams

That soon they'll stay in bed til noon

Pray that moment comes real soon!

'Cos then she'll sleep, she'll rest, she'll care,

She'll give a damn what clothes she wears

Not yet

This is now and here she lies

Wide awake with open eyes

But no regrets despite the moans

She loves this place, this time, this home

For now she's mum, no time for more.

She wears velour.



'Help me' blocks by Imogen Harvey-Lewis



Don't be afraid to step in

The suspected abduction of April Jones is playing on everyone’s minds today, not just people with children.

Just last week I had a moment of fear and pulled my 4 year old son close to have the stranger danger chat again.

We were in a soft play area, perfectly safe, we go there all the time. But it was busy and as I was watching parents coming in and out I suddenly thought, if someone carried my son or daughter off, would anyone stop them? Of course they wouldn’t. Why would they think it was anyone other than their parent/guardian carrying them?

Even if the child was kicking or screaming, how many of us would probably sit there and sympathise, giving them a knowing ‘another tantrum’ smile.

So I sat down with the 4 year old and explained that he must never go anywhere with other adults, even if they said Mummy told them to pick him up. If they decided to pull him away or carry him, he needs to shout out ‘help me this isn’t my mummy’. If he simply cried and kicked, I know that the majority of people would ignore it, it’s just another naughty child.

It's not the happiest chat I've ever had with my son and I think he probably forgot it two minutes later. The odds of it happening are small, miniscule, there's probably more chance of winning the lottery. But it's the most painful, sick-inducing fear I have.  

There are plenty of messages out there for the kids but what about the parents?

Don’t be afraid to tackle a parent if a child looks in distress and you’re just not sure. If everything is ok, they would forgive you for interfering, but they’d never forgive you if you didn’t.

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Stranger Danger Gloucestershire Police website http://www.gloucestershire.police.uk/kids_aware/3.html

 

Unexpected joy

Nothing could have prepared me for the joy of seeing my son ride his bike.

It’s the kind of joy you don’t feel very often. Real, heart thumping, blood rushing, face glowing, smile inducing, shout out as loud as you can joy. I could feel my whole body open out into one huge smile as he disappeared off in front of me, on his own two wheels.

Joy.

This is more than just happiness, it's the kind of joy people tell you that you should feel on all those important occasions (but I never really did).

Your wedding day (fun but planned), finding out you’re pregnant (sick inducing), holding your new baby in your arms (thank god it’s over). None of those events made me feel the joy of the bike ride.

Because the very best kind of joy is totally unexpected. It’s not something you’re prepared for, no one is telling you to feel it, your mind isn’t willing your body on. It just happens, it rushes over you in an all-consuming way. That kind of joy is rare.

Up until then my most joyous moment was the Ryan Giggs goal against Arsenal in the ’99 FA Cup Semi-final replay. I’ve never felt joy like it, happiness like it, shared love like it (fallen over several rows of seats like it).  Or the Schmeichel penalty save in that same game – I mean, have you ever witnessed a crucial penalty save? It’s unbelievable.

Great joy often springs from great tension. It’s the exhilarating release of emotion that totally takes you by surprise. Making something you thought was impossible, look incredibly easy. My son, riding his bike.

So Sir Ryan Giggs – you’ve been relegated to second place in the all-time joyous top ten.

My new favourite moment is my 4 year old son going it alone on his bike, free of stabilisers. BOOM.

I get a rush just thinking about it

.  

Somewhere to run

I’d always dreamt of having a tree house. We had 3 greenhouses and a shed, all packed to the rafters with plants in various stages of growth and tools of every kind.

But there was no room in any of them for me. A tree house would have been perfect because then I’d have had somewhere to run.

When you’re a kid, how important is it to have somewhere to run?

Two conversations I’ve had today with two very different Mums, made me think of the tree house. 

Prolific blogger mum of three world talks about sibling rivalry and her eldest needing to get away from it all. And the other, my big sister, shared her fears for her epileptic son when he starts big school, where will he run when he needs help? Both expressed the same fear that they weren’t the ones they could run to. That not being there or your child choosing to run to someone else was a sign of failure.

But it’s not.



The olden days, but no tree house



I have vivid memories of running away many times; sometimes I’d pack a bag and mean it, other times I was escaping to sort my head out.

I had friends with brilliant parents whom I loved and trusted a great deal. I had my Nan who’d be there with a strong tea and lots of sugar (before phoning my mum and gently sending me home).

I’d run away, calm down, and most importantly, come back.

This wasn’t a bad reflection on my own Mum & Dad. I feel privileged that I had other adults I could turn to and looking back, thankful that my parents let me do that.

At certain points in your life, the last people you want to talk to is your parents, either through shame, embarrassment or more likely a huge fear of disappointing them (and most of the time I was probably running away from my sister!)

Kids get stressed, kids occasionally hate their siblings and kids will often feel alone. But as long as they’ve got a tree house they can bolt to, or a friend to support them, they’ll be fine.

And it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’ve let them deal with things in their own way and if they’re anything like me, they’ll thank you for it and respect you so much more in the long run.

I still run away, all adults do, to have a beer, a walk, or a chat with someone other than my husband. So why should our kids be any different?

Audio books and music reviews for under 5s

I've posted a new review. It's a list of my favourite audio books and music CDs for Under 5s.
Click on the 'Review' tab above.

Epilepsy rollercoaster ride

My sister’s son has epilepsy.  My first nephew, the crazy cute one who says wacky things, draws great pictures and has a style sense to rival Gok Wan. The boy who I pretended was my son before I had my own kids. Yep I really did that, people would stop and say how much he looked like me and I would just smile and nod, never admitting he wasn’t actually mine. Big Sis didn’t mind, she secretly liked it.

I didn’t know much about epilepsy and I still don’t know enough. He was diagnosed last year and every week he displays new symptoms, fights new battles, has more challenges to overcome.  And because we don’t live near, I only get to hear about it. My sister and her husband get to live it, day and night. They're on an epilepsy rollercoaster ride and they'll never be allowed to get off.

Epilepsy isn’t just about fits – or seizures to give them their proper name. He suffers from ‘drops’ which are temporary blackouts, causing him to trip, drop things on the floor, even fall in his own food. Not a good look when you’re surrounded by 5 year olds and your dinner is now all over your face. But he sits up, wipes his face clean and gets on with it. 

He also has long periods of being in a trance-like state. He doesn’t hear you call his name (ok most 5 yr olds don’t hear that!), but he doesn’t hear you offer him chocolate or a ride on his bike either. He wants to sit in the corner in silence and retreat into his own world. Big Sis tells me this is the hardest state to deal with. Her lively, never-sit-still child hides out in dark corners and stares blankly into space. Drifting from place to place, not hearing you, not really seeing you and not reacting to the world around him.

You have to carry on as normal. You could wrap him up in cotton wool but he’s 5 and the last thing he wants is to be different. So unless things are really bad, he gets dressed and goes to school. Often falling on the way, sometimes arriving and not really knowing he’s there. On these days my sister tells me she cries silent tears. You know the ones you cry when you’re trying to hold it together but the tears keep coming anyway? Sometimes the mums at the school gate share the pain, sometimes the teacher’s look says it all.

His epilepsy is evolving and they’re still trying to find the perfect combination of drugs to help manage his illness. Children in school are starting to notice and they’re old enough to be told what’s going on. If they understand what’s happening to him they’re less likely to make fun of him. Bullying is an extra stress he really doesn’t need.

But he’s an incredibly brave little boy and he keeps on smiling. He’s always been slightly eccentric and I think this eccentricity will get him through it. It hasn’t stopped his obsession with super heroes or taken away his daredevil spirit. It seems an odd thing to say, but epilepsy couldn’t have happened to a better kid – he’s so well-equipped to deal with it.

I can’t begin to imagine what my sister and her husband are going through. I hope this post helps more people to understand. But the best way we can help is to learn more about epilepsy, not be afraid of asking questions and most importantly, don’t treat him as if he’s different.

And next time you see a child who’s behaving a little bit strange, think twice before you judge him. Next time you see a parent who looks slightly on the edge, think twice before you judge them too. You just never know what’s going on in people’s lives.

http://www.epilepsy.org.uk/

http://www.epilepsy-parents.org.uk/index.html

Dedicated to my Big Sister, who is so much stronger than she realises and my Nephew, the next big thing.

Remembering Me

I’ve forgotten who I am.

Has this happened to you? You won’t know you’ve forgotten until you remember. It’s a strange feeling, a bit like deja vu, a moment of weirdness but also huge joy. It brought a smile to my face.

I was sitting alone on the top of a hill looking across to the River Severn after a brief, but brisk, hike when it all came back to me. I could picture the twenty-something woman, walking for miles to get away from the city smoke and clear the hangover. With a good-looking man in tow and a bottle of wine warming in the ruck sack.

For a few minutes I sat there and felt happy as I remembered the forgotten me. A different kind of happy to how I feel most of the time, but happy all the same. So I texted my husband with a picture of view and the words ‘I love you’ – something I never text. He texted the same thing back (which was more of a shock), I think he understood the moment.

Like many women (maybe even some men) I’ve given myself away. To my husband, my work, my friends even, but mostly to my kids. So much so that I don’t even remember what I like. I’m a stranger to myself and I can only remember the me who exists to exist for others.

But I found it on that hill for a very brief moment and it felt really good. I'm going looking for me again soon.

As I write this, a group of my oldest friends are out reliving their Hacienda youth in a nightclub somewhere. I hope they get this feeling tonight and I think they will. I wish I could be there.

What i'm trying to say is, if you think you’ve lost you, don’t worry because you're still there somewhere. You may be cowering timidly at the back of the room, too afraid to come out, but you will. And when it happens it'll feel really good :)