Tonight, Algebra, we beat you!!! I am a Good Mummy!!!

I think that I can safely say that this evening I have been a good Mummy. You may think that I am blowing my own trumpet here, and you would be right, but it is a rare occasion when I can genuinely say "Tonight I have been a brilliant Mum!"

I will take you back to about 40 minutes ago when I was safely snug on my sofa, tapping away at my laptop, confident that my daily chores were over and all I had was a quiet evening ahead of me before toddling off to bed.

Along came Son #2 at that moment with the worried look that I recognise as the accompaniment to an extreme lack of completed homework. The problem, it seemed, was Algebra. He had no idea how to do his maths prep and wanted me to help. Me ... Algebra .... My first reaction was to send for Son #1 who is far brainier than me when it comes to the demon Maths. Unfortunately, due to what turned out to be either a complete lack of understanding of said homework or, more likely, a pressing engagement with YouTube, he decided it was beyond him too.

photo courtesy of Amplify.com

It is at this point that a mother shows her mettle. A girl either writes a note in her son's planner expressing total ignorance of all things mathematic or she heads upstairs to the Mac in an attempt to at least show willing ... In a fit of positivity I took the latter option and with beating heart trudged towards almost certain humiliation.

Having discovered that the homework was due in tomorrow (obviously) and that the time was now 9.20 pm I gave the requisite speech on doing homework immediately its given so any problems can be ironed out and then looked at the screen before me. My heart sank as I saw what appeared to be hieroglyphics ... How on earth was I going to sort this out?

With a sigh I suggested we both do the online tutorial in an attempt to understand anything at all. Gradually, before our very eyes, the mystery of Algebra unfolded. We followed the lesson and then tentatively attempted the homework sums. It was like walking along a balance beam ... neither of us were quite sure how we were doing it, but we seemed to be understanding what to do. The screen started to glow with green tick symbols ... Each time we hovered over the "Mark your Work" button we held our breath and bit our lips ...

And blow me down with a feather if we didn't get it right!! When I say "we" I mean my son because it was he who decided on the answers, but I was checking them in my head and knew he was doing the right thing.

In the space of 20 minutes we went from being complete Algebra duffers to a couple of excited nerds giving High Fives to each other as yet another green tick appeared. There can't be many people who bond over maths ( not in my Arts dominated world anyway) but tonight we bonded like bilio!

As we said "Good Night!" and he padded off to bed after a huge hug and a giggle I knew that tonight I had been a good mum. Tonight I had entered an unknown land with my boy and we had emerged triumphant together. We may not actually ever be able to do it again, but this time we beat you Algebra ... we beat you!!

Go Away Little Voice ...

Its Sunday morning and I am sitting in my pink, fluffy dressing gown at the kitchen table. Having read a few blogs I am now continuing to avoid any actual physical work by writing this ...

I don't know why it is that I have a gnawing feeling of guilt that I am doing nothing productive ... after all its not as though I've signed some sort of contract to be busy at all times, providing nourishment for my children or polishing various pieces of dusty furniture. I think it may be some sort of genetic failing present in most women. For some reason we feel that it is our mission in life to cook, clean, care for, organise ...

Luckily I don't seem to have the full on, OCD type gene. I may have the feeling of guilt when I sit down and do nothing but write, or read, but I don't actually do anything about it. I am aware of a small voice in the back of my head at this very moment telling me "Sarah, you really ought to get dressed and do some washing, or go to the allotment, or tidy your bedroom, or clean the fridge ..." But fortunately I have the strength of mind to ignore that voice and continue typing.

I think that I may well be part of a new generation of women who are moving on from the persistent necessity to clean, cook and generally skivvy about for their family. Or, of course, I could just be a rogue lazy cow.

I remember the very first time I heard that little voice in my head telling me to do something I would have preferred not to do. It was when my first son was about a day old. I had given birth by emergency cesarean and the whole experience had been a far cry from the dream of aromatherapy oils and shangrila I had hoped for. I recall him lying in his clear plastic, hospital cot crying and I knew he needed his nappy changing. I, on the other hand, needed a lie down as my operation scar was killing me and I felt faint. It dawned on me at that moment that there was nobody else around who could help this little baby and that this was my job now.

I think it was the very first time I had ever done something for someone else when really I needed to just go to bed and pull the covers over my sweaty, pain racked brows. I think it was then that the realisation of motherhood and all it meant, hit me. "Fuck"

It has been a long and slow recovery. For the first few years of motherhood I truly believed that I was the only one who could do right by my children and this belief resulted in a combination of huge resentment and an enormous amount of homemade produce. I lost count of the number of cakes I baked, sweet potatoes I mashed and poured into ice cube trays, or curls of hair I framed. (ok I admit that does sound a tad Hannibal Lecteresque ...)

Looking back there was no expectation from anyone but myself that I should do all this. My husband is the most wonderful partner who has no qualms about putting on a load of washing or ironing his own shirt for work. But that gene was rampant in my DNA.

It has taken time, but I now realise that what I do with my life is up to me. If I don't want to hoover my lounge then I don't have to. If I want to spend my day at the allotment, or not, then I will ... or won't. The world will not collapse if we have beans on toast for dinner rather than a three course, organic feast and if my son tells me he is not hungry at lunchtime then so be it. He is old enough to get himself some toast in an hour if he gets peckish then.

Does that make me a bad mum? I don't think so. I think it makes a happier, more relaxed, fully rounded person. I have learnt to ignore that pesky voice telling me that I have to do things. I don't have to do those things right now. They will get done when I want to do them ... or when I tell my boys to do them.

So, I am going to continue sitting here, looking out at my garden and the fence that needs painting. I shall continue to peruse the internet and possibly, in a moment, make another pot of tea.

Cycling to school with my son... I am the most embarrassing mother in the world.

Today we cycled to school. When I say we I mean son #2 and me. Apparently, however, we won't be cycling to school again as I am the most embarrassing mother in the world.... I thought the trip to school had been a lovely one - gliding down the valley field then onto the cycle track and on to school.

But no.When we came across some secondary school students and I inadvertently crashed into the back of son #2, squealing like an excited piglet on speed, I let the side down. I was 'not cool'.Silly boy.Of course I am cool... I had on my super cool son #1's bike/skater helmet helmet. I had applied lip gloss and was ready to face anything that crossed our paths...

So, how can he say I am embarrassing?? Personally I am looking forward to the next trip. Not tomorrow because we have the orthodentist... but I have to bike again... I have been out and bought a bell...