Warning!! Before you buy an XBox ...

Do you have teenage boys? I do. I have 2 teenage boys who are, frankly, lovely. Most of the time. They have learnt how to make cups of tea and bacon sandwiches. My work as a mother is done. The one thing that drives me bananas is their addiction to consoles. I say the one thing... I mean the main thing. There are other idiosyncrasies that push my buttons, but on the whole I can cope with them. The whole question of XBox and PS4 however is enough to turn me from mild mannered, yoga loving mother to sledge hammer wielding maniac.

photo courtesy of livescience.com

Gone are the days of young men sitting quietly in their rooms reading novels... Actually I'm not sure that ever happened. Gone are the days of boys heading off into the woods to make camps with their friends. These days they sit in their rooms wearing head phones, living vicariously through screens.

My sons alternate between being Ultimate Team footballers, worshiped by millions and paid fortunes, and being Ultimate Killing machines, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons, stalking around virtual battle grounds. They join their friends online, all slumped in their darkened bedrooms for hours on end, communicating through microphones like futuristic Ultimate Call Centre Workers.

I don't understand what they enjoy about this. It is the main source of arguments in our house because they want to play all the time. I only let them play at weekends, for a limited time. I hate the way it changes them. They become surly, angry unreasonable and they don't understand why I am so mean. If I could go back in time I would never have bought the damn things.

They say that its their social life - bantering with their friends through head sets and playing games together. They tell me that they revise together on group chat... *tumble weed rolls by...yeah* It worries me that they will turn into fat, smelly, unshaved men in their 30's who are surgically attached to a gaming chair, kept alive through a system of intravenous Dominos.

The only thing that keeps the light of hope alive in me is the fact that they do sometimes venture out into the light. They have not crossed completely to the dark side yet... They still arrange to play real life football with their mates and sometimes they go on a bike ride. Perhaps this is the way of the future? Perhaps I have to accept that the teenage boy of today needs to sit, bathed in the blue light of his console for what seems like endless hours? I suppose this is better than being on the street corner drinking cider. Yes, of course it is.

But if I was the mum of young boys now, facing for the first time the question of whether I should buy some variant of console game.... I would delay, delay, delay!!! I would encourage outdoor pursuits and building of relationships. I would encourage the reading of books!! Hindsight is a tricky thing. At the time we bought them their first Game Boy we thought it was a bit of fun, that we were being lovely parents. But now I look back and I wish we had waited. I hate these things now. I hate that they spend their money on points to buy new players. I hate that we argue over the time spent on them. I spend my time negotiating usage based on completion of homework and household chores.

I have become a Master at Hide the Controller. My house is full of secret places where the little black plastic controls nestle during the week. We have pitched skills, child against mother in the quest to be the Ultimate Controller of the Game. At the moment I think I am winning... but this could just be a figment of my imagination.

As a mother, speaking to you as a parent ... Beware!! Beware the Peril of the XBox and the PS4. Treat them with caution and hold your children close to you. Be the one who is in control. Have rules. These games are insidious. Before you know it your clean, golden child will become a hairy teenager with oversize thumb muscles and an encyclopedic knowledge of automatic weapons and players from La Liga. You have been warned...

GCSE Revision and the long distance mother.

Oh the joys of GCSE revision and exams!! I love it!! The happy face of my son as he settles down to a couple of hours revision, with his cup of tea at his side and a wall full of post it notes and inspiration ... NOT.

You may have gathered from previous posts that I do not find parenthood the easiest of occupations. However ... GCSE revision mixed with a liberal sprinkling of hormones and general teenage bolshiness has taken the enjoyment factor to a whole new level.

My son was predicted mostly A's for his exams and he is more than capable of achieving these. I am most hopeful that come August we will indeed be handed a brown envelope full of hope and happiness. The road to achieving this, however, is paved with days full of differing levels of misery.

We have, as parents, tried various strategies to encourage revision. 

• We have trusted that our delightful offspring will work appropriately of his own volition.
• We have shouted and nagged.
• We have bribed him with promises of money/games if work is done.
• We have threatened with promises of privileges/games removed if work isn't done.
• We have demanded that he sit at the kitchen table each evening for an hour & a half.
• We have wheedled.
• We have reasoned.
• We have provided every revision aid known to Man.

All this to no avail.

My son tells me that he knows what he needs to do and that we should trust him.So we are.

This is hard to do.

He does not appear to be doing a great deal/any revision at home, although I know they are working on revision at school.

My whole being wants to help him, advise him... I have tried to show him how to study. I want him to do well. Obviously.

But there is only so much you can do. He is a clever boy and it is up to him to realise that you do well by working hard. I cannot revise for him so I have to accept that what will be will be. If he does well we will celebrate. If he does not do well we will deal with it ... or help him deal with it.

I have come to the conclusion that there is no point whatsoever in ruining our relationship by screaming and shouting at him. Of course I would love it if he was organised and dedicated to getting the best grades possible, but at least he is facing his exams with an attitude that is relaxed and confident. I would rather this than have him worried and crippled by nerves and fear.

At some stage he will do what needs to be done. I am not going to spend the next couple of months screaming and shouting and begging. What will be, will be. He is approaching adulthood and much as I try to lead my boy to the books I cannot make him study. He has to do that himself and he will either do well, or he won't. If he does well then fab. If he doesn't ... he will hopefully learn a lesson.

I believe in my boy. I know, that come August, he will deliver.

*crosses fingers*

Preparing your children for the big bad world.

I remember when my first son was about to start school we went to a meeting with the Head Teacher. She told us that the best thing we could for our children was to make them as independent as possible. She said that being able to sit still and concentrate, to be able to listen to an instruction, to be able to get dressed and undressed - these were all skills that would be invaluable.

I thought that this was sensible, sound advice and made sure that my boys were able to do these things. To be honest I had been working on this since they were born. It seemed like common sense for my children to be able to choose their clothes in the morning, dress themselves, use a knife and fork correctly... After my second son's first PE lesson the teacher told me that he had been the only one who had been able, in a class of 30, to undress, fold his clothes, dress for PE and then after the lesson get dressed and put his kit away.

Before you think that this post is going to be a great long brag of how wonderful and incredibly advanced my boys are ... its not. Trust me, if you've read any of my other posts you will know that my boys are a mixture of good, bad, loveable and infuriating...

The reason I'm writing this is because the quest to prepare children for the big bad world starts as soon as they are born and continues. As parents we all do our best, but sometimes its hard to know where the line lies between giving them freedom and being a control freak. I am ... a control freak!

I was chatting with my sister yesterday and we were talking about the perils of drugs. Her son has just started at Uni and my sons are in their teens, so drugs are most definitely on the agenda. The thing is we have to, at some stage, trust our children to do the right thing. We have to trust that we have brought them up to be sensible young people and by teaching them to do things for themselves from an early age we are doing exactly that.

The thing is though that its quite scary to trust them. I know, from working with hundreds of children, that parents don't want to let their babies go. Mums follow their children into school on the pretext of making sure they hang their coat up properly. Children have their crisp packets and snack bars pre-opened so that they don't have to do it themselves. Helloooo???!! Children are picked up, dropped off, dressed ... they have their noses wiped, their food cut up ... And when, all of a sudden they are at school, some of them are absolutely incapable. That is not helping your child.

I once saw myself on a holiday video, following my 16 month around, frightened that he would fall. I hadn't realised how hideous I was. For goodness sake!! I needed to let him find his own way, let him fall. We learn from our mistakes, don't we? Children have to be able to push their boundaries so they learn how to look after themselves in the long run. Its a juggling act of giving them firm 'rules of engagement' so they know where they stand in the great scheme of things, and yet letting them test themselves with new challenges.

I am the first to admit that I am rubbish at this. I am a control freak who wants to keep my boys with me all the time. But I know this is my failing and I've worked hard to try and let them be independent.

When my boys hit 10 I started to let them walk up to the shops by themselves. It terrified me. Some of you may think that I was late letting them do this, but I have always been a bit over-protective. I knew, however, that I needed to let them learn.They knew that they had to use the zebra crossing. What they didn't know was that I used to time their trips initially and stand by the window! It scared me to start with. I would imagine all manner of disaster, but amazingly they survived the peril of buying a loaf of bread. And they thrived in the knowledge that they were grown up enough to walk alone to the shops. I trusted them.

Of course you don't go straight from being a control freak, standing over them so they don't fall, to letting them go on holiday to Ibiza with their mates in one short time span. All this takes time and happens in small steps over the years, obviously. And each child is different. As a parent you know your child's limits and personality.

But, for me, giving your children independence and teaching them life skills is so important. Knowing how to open the top of a yoghurt and how to cut up their own food before they reach school age is really important. There are so many children who can't do these things. So many can't turn their jumpers the right way round if they are inside out. The time between being a toddler and being a teenager goes so quickly and even though they will always be your babies, they don't have to be treated like babies.

We are entering a whole new world now - a world of exams, parties, university ... I cannot be there to bodyguard my sons every step of the way. Can you imagine??! I just have to hope that I have given them the confidence and ability to make their own way. They are responsible for their own lives and actions and I have to trust that if they are faced with a difficult situation they will do the right thing. I have no control over other people, over the future, but by allowing them to 'fall' sometimes I hope they have learned how to avoid falling or, if not, how to get back up again.

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!!

From sunshine and cake to rainy days and Fridays.

Its been a funny old week ... I started off basking in sunshine with my friends at a local tearoom. It overlooks acres of farmland occupied only by the occasional horse and a fair proportion of bumble bees and flowers. We sat in the warm Spring sun sipping tea poured from a proper pot, complete with hand knitted cosy and loose leaves and luxuriating in the taste of freshly baked Victoria sponge.The three of us put the world to rights and planned the day when we could open our own bijou tearoom ...

What a dream that would be ... a quaint little place with assorted china, wild flowers in jam jars and the best homemade cakes, baked using eggs from our hens. We could have book club evenings, film nights (only black and white of course ...) and who knows what other cosy get togethers ... ho hum ...

Of course its not going to happen is it? But I can dream ...

From that sundrenched afternoon of happiness things seemed to go slightly downhill. Not terribly, mind you, but enough to give me a penchant for wine and and quite a sore throat from yelling at my boys. As you may know, my boys are teenagers now. They somehow managed to change from mild mannered, golden boys to rather hairy and often quite grumpy young men in the blink of an eye. I wonder when it happened sometimes. People tell you to make the most of when they are little because it doesn't last long and you nod sagely whilst thinking how ridiculous a thing to say. But of course its true ...

One minute they are snuggling up for a bedtime story and the next they are slumped on the sofa in only their underpants and the entire contents of a tin of Lynx.

Despite my earlier post revealing my plans for my son's revision things didn't go quite as planned. Despite getting an A for his maths and a B for chemistry he managed to get a U for Biology and has spent the week revising for a resit. Or should I say he has spent the week avoiding doing revision. I think that I could probably get an A if I sat the paper now as I have been the one doing most of the studying. I have made him sit with me going over the paper again and again.

Did you know that if they fail end of year exams they get given their paper back, complete with all the correct answers for the retake? To fail a resit you have to be either totally stupid because you just don't understand the questions or answers ... or totally stupid because you don't sit down and learn them. I can now tell you about the nitrogen cycle and how to clone a pink iguana ... two skills I never thought would enter my life. We shall see if the child has passed or not next week.

It never ceases to amaze me how selfless parents are. Even I, who am not a natural parent, being of a more selfish and self-absorbed disposition than the average mother, find myself putting myself last when it comes to my boys. From the moment my first son was born I found myself doing things like change his nappy, feed him ... before I did things for myself, like lie down before I fainted from the pain of a cesarean  I remember the awful moment when I realised that nobody else was going to look after this little bundle of pinkness ...

Even though I would rather sit slumped infront of a black and white film with a glass of merlot and a bowl of sweet chilli crisps, I find myself heading off in all weathers to watch football in weather as horrid as this ...

Last night was one of these evenings. The weather had changed from balmy bliss to something akin to the Siberian Wastes. Although we have entered the second week in May, MAY  I was wrapped in a ski jacket, scarf, gloves and woolly hat. Even then I was freezing cold, soaked to the skin and losing the will to live.

I do realise, reading this back, that my enthusiasm for motherhood would appear to come a poor second to my liking for wine, cake and generally sitting about having a good chat with friends. This would probably be an accurate appraisal of the situation. But, let's face it, I still do all the right stuff, don't I? I may not like it, but I do sit down and work out revision timetables. I do stand on touchlines watching endless hours of mindnumbing ( obviously purely because of the weather ...) football. I do cook and clean and get up at the crack of dawn to ... well ... to have some time to myself actually. 

So ... its important to be able to do that ... have time to yourself. The realisation of that truth was one of the things that helped me get through my PND. You can't just be a mum all the time ... for me that way lies madness. 

My week has ended as it began ... almost. With friends for lunch, sadly indoors as the weather was so blowy today, but still warm and enjoyable, just like the afternoon at the tearoom. I love cooking for friends ( or just opening packets of cold meat, salad and cheeses, ok, ok like I did today...) An afternoon spent with like minded women who make me smile prepares me for any grumpiness the boys can sling my way. Come on fellas ... I'm ready for you!

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xxx

Kids' Football and the loneliness of the long distance mum.

One down and one to go ... I am talking about football here. As mum of two boys who are football mad I spend most of my Sundays from August through to about now swathed in outrageously michelin man stylee coats, thick scarves, beanie hats and gloves. I long ago gave up trying to look glamorous or, to be frank, even vaguely attractive. The name of the game is to make it through an hour and a half of brain numbingly cold football without developing frost bite or the latter stages of hypothermia.

I share the touchline with a group of other parents whom I would probably never recognise during the summer months. We have no idea what colour hair each of us have, no idea as to the shape of each other's faces. All we have in the way of recognisable features is a set of desperate eyes and occasionally a blue tinged nose peeping over the top of a woolly scarf.

We share a love of our children and a stoic acceptance of our fate. A fate that involves hours of frustration in the cold, interspersed by the occasional shaft of bright sunlight when the boys win ... or even just score.

There is also quite a large level of guilt. This is generally brought on by tournaments. Tournaments take the whole football thing to another level. A tournament means more than an hour and a half on the touchline ... it means possibly a whole day. This involves provision of drinks, snacks, flasks of coffee and a generous amount of chocolate ... and then of course there's the picnic for the kids. The day usually starts with an inordinate amount of optimism regarding the outcome of the competition, but as the day stretches on a parent usually finds themself wishing for losses. After all, if the team loses we all have to go home ... earlier. Unless the fiendish organisers have introduced a "Plate" competition. This is for the teams who have lost everything. Instead of having to go home to a warm house and a nice lunch they get the chance to keep on playing for a plate trophy ... along with all the other bad teams ... How lovely.

So the guilty parent outwardly enthuses about the team's performance, whilst internally they are selling their soul in the desire for it all to be over...

Don't get me wrong ... watching your children play sport can be magnificent. Winning a game can be the most exciting feeling and seeing their faces alive and alight with the joy of victory is just wonderful! But it doesn't seem to happen that often. And spending your weekends acting as taxi, supporter and then psychoanalyst can wear thin after 8 months.

Therefore it is with joy that I can say that Son #2's season has finished today. They have avoided relegation and yet won't have to cope with a tricky higher division either. Of course there will still be friendly matches well into the summer and training will continue for a while, but the pressure of having to attend every single match, no matter the weather and no matter that the opposition plays in Outer Mongolia, is over.

Now I just need Son #1's season to come to a close as well. Then I can gather my strength and spend 4 months preparing the the next season. I am thinking of treating myself to some thicker long johns and possibly a hip flask.

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Life with Teenage Boys ... give me strength.

I have just eaten a date and cranberry hot cross bun followed by a large mug of tea. I am allowed to do that because today is not a fast day ( see previous 2 posts ...) The reason I have eaten this frankly delicious combo of carbs and caffeine is because I share a house with two teenage boys. If I allowed myself full rein I would have eaten the whole packet of said hot cross buns ...

This holiday has consisted of me nagging them to revise for exams ... me nagging them to wash ... me nagging them to help around the house ... I have tried bribery and various other forms of corruption as well as the old fashioned "Do this or I will kill you!" technique. And, at the end of the day, none of it works. They are, before my very eyes, turning into two morose, lazy, rude, x-box obsessed monsters.

These are not my boys ... photo courtesy of the Guardian.

I know this is harsh. Despite this fact I do still love them and would probably throw myself infront of a speeding bullet to save them, but quite often these days they are rather hard to like. This may not be the accepted school of thought for a mum to take, but this is my blog and I'll write what I want to.

I have tried reasoning, tried cajoling, tried shouting, tried bargaining ... and nothing works. I wanted to do something with them each day ... visiting places, going to the cinema, going out to eat ... and yet they show no interest in this. This afternoon I had planned on taking them to the cinema and to McDonalds for lunch. I gave them a choice of films ... The eldest refused point blank to go. The youngest came along, but was so rude when I said he would be having the McDonalds for lunch rather than after the film for tea, that I took him straight back home.

So that is it. I have told them that I will no longer nag. They assure me that revision is under control and they "know what to do ..." so its over to them. If they are so grown up then they can jolly well get on with it. I will spend the next week of this holiday doing what I want to do ... garden centre, exhibitions, dinner, allotment. And they can continue with their x- box, their lap top, their ipad. They can fry their brains with internet waves and grow their thumb muscles to obscenely huge sizes through their obsessive use of gaming controls.

And when they fail their exams they will face an electronic free world. There will be no mercy. There will be no x-box, no .... nothing with a screen or a twiddly control. I am so sick of their attitude, their arrogance and their addiction to You Tube, Fifa 13, Minecraft and Facebook. I am no longer going to nag them ... the ball is firmly in their court. I hope they prove me wrong and both come out with shining results, but I fear they are in for a nasty shock.

You may think me a terrible mother and you may be right. I have never claimed to be a good mum. I know my boys could be much worse. They could be out on the streets drinking or doing drugs, having under age sex and vandalising the local cricket club pavilion ( God, how middle class does that sound ... ) but what I want is for them to achieve their potential. I hate to see an A grade student getting Bs and Cs, refusing to write anything down or read his set books. I hate feeling so incredibly frustrated and rejected by them. They do not want to spend time with me and consider me stupid and petty. They drive me nuts with their attitude and their complete lack of enthusiasm for anything.

I have spent the last 15 years doing my best for them and all they do is behave as if its their God given right to do what they want, when they want, with no regard for anyone else. I suppose to some of you my post might sound a bit pathetic, and reading it back I would tend to agree with you, but I am going crazy with frustration here. What happened to my little boys??

The day I see them both happy, in good jobs, with loving partners and their own obnoxious teenagers ... I will shriek with joy ...

Homework Help - How much is too much and why help at all?

My son is upstairs doing homework - writing a newspaper report on China's One Child policy. He is 13.

He has had a week to prepare and write the piece and has lots of information on what is expected and what he needs to write and include to gain certain grades. I can't remember having to write things like that for my homework when I was 13, but then times have changed. He is in a very bad mood because he hates having to read anything and one of the main tasks for this is retrieving information from various sources.

I have to admit that I have helped him. I pointed him in the right direction as far as web sites are concerned, but he was decidedly bad tempered about the whole thing.

I am torn between feeling sorry for him and just being downright frustrated by his obstinacy. It seems like a pretty interesting task to me and, for goodness sake, he has the whole of the world wide web from which to draw information. When I was at school the most advanced equipment we had was a slide rule. Gathering information meant sitting in a library trawling through dusty, well thumbed reference books...

He doesn't know he's born, does he? Can you imagine his reaction if I told him he had to hand write his essay and then only after he had gleaned all his facts from books which may or may not contain the right info? I find it hard to instil a sense of work ethic, a pride in his work. He wants everything to be done instantly, easily. But life is not like that is it? Achievements to be proud of do not come easily. They take work and sweat and worry.

I ask myself whether I should help at all - whether I should let him sink or swim by himself? Every part of my motherly instincts tell me to help him, but by helping too much I will end up hindering his progress. We have all seen homework projects supposedly done by children when its obvious their parents have spent most of half term crouched over a glue gun and a cardboard box. I am not one of those parents, but equally I want to show him where to look, how to structure, what questions to ask.

Having said that he's lucky I didn't throw the laptop through the window at one point this evening ... So, we are at the stage where he is upstairs doing it by himself and I will read through it when he's finished. I have to be patient. He has to work hard.

Dog Days ...

Do you have days like the one I'm having? Days where you can do nothing right in the eyes of your family and especially your children? I have just come downstairs from my 14 year old who tells me I am an evil woman. The reason for this? I told him to turn off his laptop and tidy his room ...

The tirade of anger that met this request was just exhausting. Apparently I don't understand him and my other son is my favourite. I should tidy his room and pick the piles of clean clothes, that I washed, folded and put in his room, from the floor where he has thrown them. Apparently he cannot remember the last time I emptied the dishwasher ... I would imagine he didn't notice because he was on his laptop at the time.

I feel that I am walking an unending tightrope at the moment. I am trying to keep everyone happy - my husband, my sons, my work colleague. I seem to be an invisible woman - up at 6.30, sorting laundry, tidying the kitchen, cycling to work, working in circumstances which are, to say the least, trying, cycling home, studying, cleaning, staying quiet so as not to wake my shift working husband, making tea ( to complaints most days) clearing up, doing homework with the boys, being a psychologist ... The list goes on.

I can feel, lurking in the depths of me, the tendrils of my depression trying to reach up and drag me down. I try to sleep well, exercise, be organised, write, to keep those tendrils at bay. I cannot let myself sink again into the blackness.

As a mum I give everything for my children. I love them so much, but my God, they nearly break me. Tonight as my son slammed his door in my face and told me all my failings I wanted to scream and rage. But I didn't. I remained calm and reasoned. I was the bigger person.

But I wish sometimes that I could just go. Go somewhere where I could not be a skivvy, not be everyone's metaphorical punchbag. I am sick of being expected to hold down a job, run a family, study and put up with everyone else's problems and worries. I have to do all this until I feel as though I am going to break and yet still give and give.

I don't know what to do about my son. I have removed all his electronic goods, much to his fury. I worry about him. He tells me that he is totally stressed, unhappy. He even said he had considered suicide. My God!! He has so much potential, but everything is starting to go wrong. He worries me and infuriates me. He sees no wrong in his behaviour, but is lazy, rude and aggressive verbally. He is also loving, funny, intelligent ...

I feel very alone at the moment. I have no confidence. There are not enough hours in the day and at the moment they mostly seem rather dark ...

A lucky escape ...

I had my hair done on Friday and had a very lucky escape ... I was sitting in the chair, chatting away to my lovely hairdresser, having my highlights done ( Yes ... I know its a shock, but I am not an entirely natural blonde ...)

Well, suddenly, from nowhere, the hairdresser's comb stabbed me in the eye lid. It was one of those long sharp spiky comb ends ...

One minute I was chatting, the next I was holding my eye .. well, not literally my eye ...  Luckily I have lightning reactions and managed to move out the way before it hit my actual eye ball. It glanced onto my eye bone socket thingy ...

I did feel a bit light headed for a second, but quickly recovered and was fine, apart from a tender eye socket, a small cut and the realisation that I had been very lucky.

My poor hairdresser was beside herself. She was so upset - pressing ice packs to my eye, glasses of water and cubes of fudge to my lips ... "30 years of hairdressing!!!" and she had never so much as cut anyone with her scissors, never mind stabbed somebody!!

Poor girl. It was just an accident and I am fine. In fact I am more than fine because she did my hair for no charge. Result! But I do shiver a bit when I think what might have happened ...

A confession ... my throat is sore from screaming at my son.

This is a confession. It has been a lifetime since I confessed to anyone. This morning as I drove to work my throat was practically bleeding from screaming at my eldest son. Bleeding...

I heard him, the other day, on the phone planning a sickie and when he started to tell me he felt ill last night I girded my loins for trouble. In our house you don't get a day off school or work unless you are vomiting or bleeding all over the carpet and it takes a mastermind crossed with the acting ability of Robert Downey Junior to get past me.

So, the huffing and puffing last night and the early night didn't cut it. Especially as he was still listening to the football on the radio until 10pm. When I went in to get him up this morning he told me he felt sick and couldn't possibly go to school ...

I'm afraid I gave him short shrift. It is the classic tale of the boy who cried wolf ... he has attempted to pull the wool over my eyes (unsuccessfully) so many times that I have no patience. He forgets that I have known him for 14 years and have nursed him through various bouts of genuine illness, from chicken pox to tummy bugs. I have mopped his brow and his vomit at all times of day and night. I have sat up with him stroking his hair until he slept.

So I am the wrong person to try to trick when it comes to illness. It does you no favours to borrow the thermometer and hold it under the cold tap and then come downstairs complaining of a temperature. As I said to him "You look remarkably well for a boy in the last stages of hypothermia ..."

This morning I am afraid that his refusal to go to school was greeted with less than usual humour from me. As his protestations went from light groaning to full scale "You are EVIL!!!!" I could take no more. I am a good mum. I am patient, understanding and prone to helping with homework, but today he was right ... I was evil.

I screamed at him. The dam of my emotions burst and I turned into a screaming, shrieking lunatic. I told him that if he hadn't left for school before I left for work I would phone the school and tell them he was refusing to go. I told him the x-box was gone until the end of February and as my heart beat in my chest like a battering hammer my final words before I swept from the room were "If I die of a heart attack right here on your carpet, it will be your fault!!!!!"

Oh, good grief ...

And this from a mother who had vowed never to tell her children even to "Shut up".

He dressed and left for school on time.




p.s. We have talked calmly since this. We have apologised to each other and I have enquired what problems he has at school - none. I have informed him that honesty is the best policy and we have both told each other we love each other. My throat is still sore .... I may have to have a couple of days off work ...

A special kind of lie?

I have two sons. Ever since they were born I have tried to create a magical world for them when it comes to Christmas, wobbly teeth, Easter. I wanted them to feel the same way I did, when I was little, about Father Christmas, fairies ...

All went swimmingly for a long time. Each Christmas we would read stories by candlelight about The Polar Express, The Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol ... We would watch films about traditional Christmases and happy families touched by the warmth and magic of Santa, tooth fairies, Easter Bunnies ...

And then, one day, I went too far ... further than glitter sprinkled as fairy dust on my hearth, further than leaving teeth marks from Santa's reindeer on the carrots we left out ... One day I wrote a letter 'from Santa' to my son. I disguised my writing and wrote what I thought was a lovely heartfelt letter from a magical old man.

I reckoned without my son's razor sharp intelligence and powers of deduction.

He knew the letter was from me. He recognised my handwriting even though I had written with my left hand, in green ink, in curly wurly writing. He was not overjoyed to receive the letter, he was suspicious. That suspicion led to investigation and the investigation led to my house of magical cards crumbling before my very eyes.

In his eyes I had deceived him. All his life I had lied to him. About everything. Santa, The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny ( although, in my defence I don't remember introducing the Easter Bunny - even for me that seemed a step too far towards the ridiculous!!)

In his words "My whole life has been a sham." ... Difficult to take from an 11 year old. And strangely over-dramatic, I am tempted to say ...

So. Would I do the same again? My youngest son continued to believe until this year and the reality of the whole Father Christmas situation seemed to dawn on him without too much trauma. It was more a "Well, it was good while it lasted, Mum and do I still get presents even if there isn't really an old bloke who climbs down the chimney?" kind of scenario.

So ... two boys, two very different reactions. I think I would do it all again.After all, I think its part of my job as a mum to create a world of imagination and wonder for my children. I remember how I felt at Christmas and I wanted my boys to feel that same joy and excitement. But is it right to lie? I spend my whole time putting emphasis on how absolutely essential it is to be honest. Lies will always catch you out. And yet I lied through my teeth to them for the first 11 years of their lives when it came to such things.

I suppose its one of those things you can only decide for yourself when the time arrives. As a parent you just try your best to do the right thing.

The loneliness of the long distance mother ... or pass the wine I've had enough!!

Having done a full day's work and having been up since 6.30 am I walk into my house to discover my boys have dumped all their belongings in the hallway and melted onto the sofas each with a laptop open and glowing.

I now begin my second job of housekeeper/cook/psychologist/nanny - and I'm not even paid for this one. As I start to clear the kitchen of the debris left from breakfast, sort out the laundry and think about cooking dinner number 2 son calls me to help with his homework...

I wouldn't mind helping with homework if I wasn't met with constant grumpiness and rudeness and I'm afraid after a long day at work I do not have a lot of patience with bad tempered 12 year olds. I calmly direct him in the ways of research and revision and then suggest trumpet practise.

This suggestion is met with what borders on derision and if it had taken place on board a boat would have given me grounds for having him keel hauled. You will, I hope, admire me for keeping my cool and walking away.

I often think its a fortunate thing that we humans, and especially mothers, do not have message screens on our foreheads because mine would be constantly streaming a mixture of profanities and plans of somehow escaping to anywhere but here. Being a mum, in my house, is not all sweetness and joy.

My reaction to a friends saccharine Facebook post that "The most precious jewels you will ever wear around your neck are the arms of your children..." was to fake vomit into my fake bucket. Is it just me or are children sometimes a bloody pain in the backside??

As I write this they are oblivious to the effect they have on me most days as I sail regally on helping with homework, cooking teas which they turn their noses up at and clearing up the endless trail of crap that they trail behind them like exhaust fumes on a winter's day.

Thank God for this blog where I can release my bile and avoid being removed to the nearest high security mental institution by men in white coats. 

Older Children & getting your life back.

I have just got home from a morning's campaigning at a local shopping parade. Part of having older children now means that I have got my life back. I don't mean that in a horrible way, but really ... how lovely is it to be able to say "I'm just off up to the allotment for an hour" or "I'm going out to get people to sign the petition"  - and be able to pop out leaving the 2 boys happily in the house by themselves?

I remember when I couldn't leave the house without a small trailer attached to my back pack carrying nappies, spare clothes, food, drink, wet wipes ... My life revolved around their meal times and bed times. Now I am free again to indulge in life as I used to know it.

This morning I was part of a team campaigning against a massive new development by a major supermarket chain who I refuse to even name on here. We set up our stall outside a local shopping parade and asked people to sign our petition. I absolutely love doing it. I enjoy meeting new people and, strangely, saying "Good Morning!" to a complete stranger and then getting them to join the campaign is a real pleasure.

I would never have thought a few years ago that I would have the nerve to do that, but now I do. Obviously not everybody says yes to us, but that's fine isn't it? Each to their own. I do find though that when people are given the facts of the matter they tend to be a) shocked and b) willing to fight.

I feel so fortunate to be in this situation now. Not only do I have 2 lovely boys with whom I love spending time, but I also have the chance to do my own thing. When I was struggling in the dark days of PND I never thought that I would get out the other side and bathe in the light of this sort of happiness again. It just shows you that there is life after such things.

Right now my life is so full of 'stuff' ... be it the allotment, study, work, campaigning, family life ... Yes, there are days when I wonder quite why I do so much, but most of the time I count myself so very lucky to have the chance to do it.

BritMums Blogger of the Week - how very marvellous!!

About 18 months ago I joined BritMums - a parenting website and forum - and I have dipped in and out since then. This week, however, I had time to have a really good delve into their revamped site and I was not disappointed! Following a veritable of flurry of activity on my behalf, including my first attempts at Vlogging or video blogging, they have very kindly named me ... da da daaaaaahh ...Blogger of the Week!!

How thrilled am I? Well, I can genuinely say 'very thrilled'. And what have I done to deserve this award? Well, I think mostly I have blogged, vlogged and generally become really active. I have found some very interesting blogs on the site which cover everything from How to make a vlog to Coping with depression as a parent. The whole vibe is one of friendship and support, which is rather marvellous.

This half term week has given me the time to get involved and has also made me realise just how much I love blogging. Trying to explain to my bemused mum just why I revealed parts of my life to others was interesting!! I can't explain why I love it so much, but I do. 

I love the interaction with other people. I love putting my posts on Twitter and Facebook and increasing the circle of people who visit my pages. I love seeing the comments that people post, most of which are incredibly supportive and friendly. And I love being a part of other people's lives - people all over the world. I love the excitement of finding a jewel of a site, maybe someone who has just started blogging and has no idea how interesting they are!!

If I could make a living out of doing this I would love to ... but to be honest that's not why I blog. I blog for me, for the satisfaction, for the friendship, because through blogging I learn, I laugh and I cry. And occasionally, like today I get given an award! 

Hurrah!!!!!

Shallow blog follower love and serious droney stuff...

I am thrilled to see that I am approaching 50 followers... Now, you may consider me to be shallow and a tad narcississtic ( is that how you spell it??) and you would be right to think that... but for me the thought of nearly 50 people having visited me and having had the energy to click the follow button is just fab!!!


So... if you are reading this and you want to make my day even more gorgeous then do feel free to click away and make my liitle band of followers a nice round 50!! I will come over to your blog and bathe you with adoration!!


Now... to matters of life.My life, I am happy to report, is going along swimmingly. Yes, its busy and I seem to spend most of my time taxiing one child or another to various sporting events, but on the whole I consider myself very lucky.


This has been brought home to me this week in a serious way.My brother in law's neighbour - dad to 2 young boys and a man of only about 40 years old, has passed away.He had been suffering from cancer for the last year or so. I did not really know him, but my Man worked with him for a while and his young wife works in the same business as my husband. I met her last Christmas when we went to drinks at my brother in law's house on Christmas Eve.She was young and beautiful with her little boys barely more than toddlers.


To think that those little fellas will be facing Christmas without their Daddy this year is just dreadful.To think of that young woman having to face life without her man is tragic.It makes you realise how fragile our link with life is.You just have to live every day, enjoy every moment.Sometimes, when life is full of worries and annoyances it takes quite a bit to be able to stop and think.Ones own worries mount up and consume your life, but really, all that matters is that you have your health and your loved ones close to you.

Another thing that struck me over the last few days was 9/11.I was watching a documentary about it with my 11 year old son and I was amazed and a little shocked to realise that he did not know much about it.He knew that lots of people had died, but did not know how.I just assumed that the horrific image of the planes flying into the Twin Towers was burned into everyones memory, as it is into mine.


But when I think of it, he was only 4 when it happened.How could he know? I have protected him from those images.We spoke about it the other night and I explained what had happened, but I still did not want him to see the film of it. It is too upsetting, too awful.I will never forget that day - watching in horror as events unfolded - not understanding what was happening and then just sobbing as I sat with my friend and watched the news.


Its strange how terrible things happen... things that make such a massive impact on our lives... and yet they are unknown to others.I suppose its my job to make sure my children know about these events, in a way that they understand and yet doesn't frighten them.


Well... I have droned on a bit tonight. If you are still reading... then congratulations! You have true stamina!!Oh... and if you are still reading and you haven't signed up to follow my blog yet... go on... I'll love you forever!!!

A brave new world...

I am entering a new world. It is a land that I knew was on the horizon, and have been preparing for, but its a strange and bewildering place...


Let me explain... I have been a mum now for eleven and a half years. To be honest I am not particularly good at it and have struggled with post natal depression to start with and then just downright misery further on because being a parent is hard bloody work. But through all this time I have been very protective...


Some might say over protective. They would be right. I watched a family holiday video in horror and saw myself, not as the glamorous woman I though I was, but as a plump, worried mother, scurrying after my first born, ready to catch him if he fell, ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre if he choked, ready to ... well, ready to do anything to keep him from harm. Not a pretty sight. If I was someone else looking at me... well, I would have loathed me... an irritating woman indeed.


But now the time has come for my first born to fly. He starts secondary school in a week and a half.For the last year my plan has been to wean him off the comfortable family life. I have let him walk home from the local shops by himself, let him make cups of tea, cook noodles and stay up late. I have sent him on little errands, bought him a mobile phone and done all I could to make him independent. The last thing he needs when he goes to his new school is a mum waving tearfully from the gate.


But a stage has arrived that I had not anticipated coming so soon... friends. Friends calling for him on their bikes, asking him to come out. And when faced with this what can you do? You can't say "Oh, no... he's my baby and I don't want him to die on the road on his bike! I don't want him out with you... alone! " Because that would be hideously embarrassing for him. So I say "Oh, yes, sure! Take your phone and be back by 4pm Have a great time!"


Its odd, because it has come so quickly. One minute he was 3 and here and I had to do everything. The next minute, he's 11 and I have to trust that those 11 years have taught him something. I have to trust that he will be ok. I have to believe that he is intelligent and sensible and that he will be ok.


But I feel odd. I can't quite believe the time has come and its too late now to quickly train him up in the ways of the world. He has to learn for himself and he will make mistakes. But I suppose those mistakes will be the making of him and his character. From the minute he was born he has been preparing for this moment and keeping him wrapped in cotton wool won't do any good at all. He knows right from wrong. He knows the path I would like him to take. But that fact won't make him take it... He is his own person and the best thing I can do is let him go, let him learn and grow.


But I do feel strange. When he was born people told me that the time would fly by and to make the most of him being young. I didn't believe them - I longed for him to be grown up and thought it would never come. But here we are... A new country, new landscape, through which we are feeling our way. I am scared that he will get hurt in some way, but I know that I have done all I can to help him make the journey safely. The rest is up to him...