Tough Mother

You know your kids are growing up when….

My daughter told me I needed to organise a surprise birthday celebration for her dad.

This was announced on the way to school. As his favourite food was burgers, we could do that, and we (me) could make a cake that looked like a burger (obviously).

And because we were only allowed six people, she and her brother could go for a sleep over.

And we probably shouldn’t tell her brother yet because he isn’t good at keeping a secret…

Sorted.

It was an anxious few days as COVID looked to throw a spanner in the works. Again.

But our luck held and more brits were introduced to the magic of egg and barbecued pineapple in a burger.

To the counter staff at the Scilly airport.

I have been meaning to write for a while, about two years in fact, to say thank you.

I was the woman lugging multiple bags and two children in one morning out of the lashing rain. We were supposed to be taking the ferry, which one of the kids had been looking forward to very much. So much so, that he was fighting me every step of the way. Literally.

You stayed cool, even as I had him under one arm kicking and screaming, while piling the bags on the carousel. You found a way to get us on a flight so we could get back home as quickly as possible. You explained that the ferry tickets were transferable so it wasn’t as much as I feared.

Your understanding and patience was priceless.

Your help meant we made it home to see my mother in law before she died. It gave me some special time with her, my husband and his family so we could say goodbye.

So thank you.

P.S. my son is still disappointed he didn’t see a whale on the way back so hopefully we’ll be back sometime soon!

One of my husband’s goals this year was to run a half marathon.

Obviously COVID threw a spanner in the works. The race was delayed from May, then to October and is now maybe in November.

So there was a wee change of plan. Instead of running 21k with lots of people, a few weeks out from the new date, he decided to do it anyway around our nearest park.

He headed out the door as the kids and I were each doing our own thing. No starting gun and definitely no fanfare.

An hour in, I rallied the troops to get ready, including water (for him) and snacks (for them). As usual, the kids took forever to get out the door, with my daughter’s usual complaints about socks and coats.

We made it just in time to catch him at the predetermined meeting place. As we followed him on our bikes for the last three k’s, my daughter pulled out a medal she’d been awarded in her running club.

For Dad’s big achievement.

This heartwarming gesture wasn’t even undermined when she didn’t make it to the finish line due to the emergency snack break… or when she said he could only have it for a week…

Although asking for half his celebratory bacon sandwich was a step too far.

The previous update was a bit of a cliffhanger. So what happened next in the saga of the couch to 5km?

There was quite a lot of debate of what an appropriate reward would be.

The initial suggestion (not mine) of an Oreo milkshake after every run was quickly rejected (by me – in case there was any doubt). It did clarify that I meant a non-food related reward.

Beating her brother was not sufficiently motivating.

So we settled on a trip to the cinema to see Trolls World Tour after the tenth run.

Runs 5 – 10 were actually rather pleasant. Not a lot of whinging, although I swear there was some definite feet dragging. Any slower and we would have been moving backwards due to the earth’s rotational force.

That did result in some encouragement that had innocent bystanders in the park looking around for my dog.

And I am still scarred by the deep philosophical conversation we had about social injustice, while she was holding a toy gun, and playing the birdie dance (yes, there were innocent bystanders then too).

But we did get there – to the end of ten runs that is, not the 5k. And we both earned the trip to the cinema.

My Spotify predictions are still recovering from the experience…

During the school holidays, my daughter and I decided to do the couch to 5 k challenge. To be honest, it didn’t take as much convincing as I thought it would.

Run One was a delight. We headed out the door smoothly (itself a miracle), and I only had one detour back to grab some water before we were on our way. I did stumble a bit when my daughter turned to me and said, “so mum, as we’re having some girl time, tell me do you have any regrets?”

Luckily, we meandered through that and made it home in one piece. Best thing she’d ever done apparently….

Buoyed up for our Second Run, it didn’t begin well. The socks were wrong, the shoes were sore, the t-shirt didn’t fit… but we finally made it out the door. To discover that it is possible to whinge constantly for 25 minutes. Then for my daughter to tell me she hadn’t had breakfast.

So, as this is a learning experience, we headed off for Run Three several days later, after breakfast, new socks, a borrowed t-shirt, and water in hand. This time she decided some music would help – by which she meant playing Descendents loudly from my phone. In public. With no headphones. At least this time, I was following behind her (to apologise to walkers trying to enjoy a nice, peaceful start to their day).

Run Four was not my proudest moment. I think my daughter may have a hitherto undiscovered skill in making the act of walking and running look like a cruel and unusual punishment. I obviously reacted in turn, such that the encouragement, cajoling and persuasion deteriorated to disappointment and threats of actual punishments… all still to the accompaniment of Descendants.

So why am I still putting us both through this? The only problem is now as well as Descendants and my daughter’s whining in my head, I also have my mother’s voice saying ‘you’ve started this, now you have to finish’.

So we’re coming up with a reward we will both enjoy to get us to Run Ten… stay tuned…

So for those in the UK, you’ll be able to attest that it’s been pretty hot recently. 30 degrees at 10pm is not ideal and we’re still waiting for those thunderstorms to hit.

So there has obviously been some feedback from the kids.

While most of it can be put in the “business as usual” category, there has been a consistent theme around why we don’t have any fans or air conditioning.

I explained we had applied the same economic analysis as Heathrow in determining whether to invest (or not) in snow removal equipment.

I was quite pleased with my response until my son pointed out that global warming means my underlying assumptions (that past performance will be an indication of future performance) were wrong.

The chief researcher may need to investigate further!

Home Primary Academy has closed for the summer. We’ve hung up the pencils (except for some sneaky timetables) and we’re having a break from work.

So much has happened in the last few months.

So the last few days have been about soaking up the quiet – sort of, as much as you can with two kids who seem to sense when you’ve snuck away. Their “mum” and “dad” sound remarkably like a lamb trying to locate it’s mother on the other side of the paddock.

Still, the moments are gold.

Breathing in the soft decay of the forest, the salty goodness of the sea, and warm grass wafting past as I lie in wait of the kids on the playground.

It’s good to get some space and soak up an English summer (not even a sign of sarcasm there).

With everything going on in the world, it has felt wrong to talk about some of the lighthearted happenings of parenting two growing children.

It has been a challenge to work out how best to talk to the kids about Black Lives Matter.

To talk to them about unfairness, prejudice, and the impact that can have on people’s lives.

Particularly when we are so lucky.

There have been tough times, but they have been like storms. Rough when you’re in the middle of them, but they pass and the sun comes out again.

I’ve never had to survive the daily downpour of doubt about my safety or that of my family, whether the names of my children could be a disadvantage, being passed over for a job because of the colour of my skin…

I can’t imagine how exhausting that is. The amount of resilience needed to keep going and pushing for more.

It’s definitely unfair.

So we’ve started talking about race.

But how do we make sure this time results in lasting change?

So 11, or is it 12…, weeks in, and it was time for a haircut.

Mine that is.

My husband was a bit dubious at first, but I managed to convince him it was easy and I could talk him through it without studying YouTube.

Firstly, we (I) decided to forgo the mirror.

Micro-management of the process would have led to unnecessary tension.

There was already enough of that as my daughter decided she’d like to try. We drew the line at that, so after a lengthy discussion, there was some flouncing.

Phase one was cutting the hair to the “right” length…

We settled on at least the same length all round.

Having regularly cut my sisters’ hair when we were growing up, I can confirm they sometimes ended up with shorter hair than they requested. So nothing too unexpected there… they might say a bit of karma!

Phase 2 was the layering, interspersed with a bit more tension with said daughter about how best to sweep up the hair now on the floor.

While not as relaxing as the full professional shampoo, cut, blow dry experience, I can also confirm I’ve walked out of hair dressers more disappointed. Does that amount to a glowing endorsement?!

After the past weeks of sameness, it definitely delivered a change!

Although, I rather suspect there could be a long queue for the hairdressers when lockdown lifts…

The kids and I went cycling the other day. Ten minutes in and it was so silent I had to turn to check they were still with me.

With previous outings, a cacophony of moaning, whinging, crying, and whining (I appreciate that is redundant, unnecessarily duplicative, and painful) started from the end of our road. That’s roughly 100 metres.

This time it was their idea and, apparently, that makes a world of difference.

It also gives time for reflection.

Mum, do you want to go into business with me?

My daughter threw the question at me on the way home.

After my son’s comment that running a business is expensive, he decided he wanted in on it too.

My daughter decided that meant interviews!

My son immediately launched his sales pitch (including discounts for multiple purchases). I was unflatteringly quickly removed from the recruitment process.

Turns out, I make a better client than partner.

However, my husband had the pleasure of being the first one of those in their bike cleaning business.

Unfortunately, there was a difference of opinion on the price. The kids went straight past debt collection. To mud slinging.

And that was the end of that.