It'll be coal in Rachel's stocking

If Santa was taking notes this last week, Rachel would definitely be on the Naughty List. She and her cousin Sarah, had been playing quietly (often not a good sign) in the bedroom upstairs while I was getting dinner. Emilia discovered her crimes later when everyone had gone.  I was clearing up downstairs when I heard a yell of anguish from Emilia, which I took to mean the little girls had messed up the bedroom they share.

“I’ll help tidy it all up, don’t worry” I called.

“No” wailed Emilia “it is worse than that – it is an emergency!”

Emilia can be a little over dramatic at times so I didn’t rush to her aid. When I reached their room I was greeted with an overpowering smell of sickly sweet, fruit flavoured lip balm, but as I surveyed the scene, it didn’t look too bad. Emilia play make up was all out (I am sure I had put that somewhere out of reach but clearly not,) and there were six or so lip balm sticks and assorted colour lids strewn across the floor. I followed my nose to where the strawberry, raspberry, kiwi, pineapple scent was the strongest. On the bed was an elasticated, material, belt which appeared to have been coloured in using the many coloured, scented, greasy, sticks of lip balm. This was annoying, but not irreparable.

“And look!” announces Emilia holding up a coverless, vaguely familiar plastic tray of empty shapes.

“Look what she has done to my advent calendar!” she cries, hysteria setting in now, “she’s destroyed it and eaten ALL the chocolates.”

It is true, there is not a crumb, not a single trace of them, all 24 chocolates devoured.

Rachel’s own advent calendar sits there untouched, totally intact apart from one lone window she had opened earlier in the day.

I can’t help it, I am amused, I suppress a smile and go into cross mode. 

Rachel knows she has done wrong before I said a word, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says on repeat while I tell her off.

“This is very wrong” I tell her sternly, she looks a little forlorn, and says to me, as if this is some kind of excuse;

“But I like chocolate.”

She has only a few weeks left to redeem herself, she better start trying to be nice.

Christmas Un Fair

I think my Christmas cheer and goodwill is almost out and it is not even December yet. So far we have bought and sold raffle tickets (school and Brownies,) bought for and donated to three class hampers, signed up to help to run three different class stalls and decorated and filled goody bags with sweets and small toys to sell at the fair. The Friends of the School Association are also asking for homemade cakes, workplace donations, unwanted soft toys, games and DVDs and unused toiletries. These all have to be remembered to be brought in to school on different days.

On the way up to school one day this week, I saw the collection table and clapped my hand to my head;

“Arghh! forgot it was toiletries today” I said aloud.

“Toilet trees?” queried Emilia “Toilet...Trees!”

I am starting to think, either she has a very unique way of looking at the world, or she’s very thick. She has always been extremely literal.

On top of all these things to remember, last Friday, we had to bring in a bottle for the fair’s bottle tombola in exchange for the children going to school in Mufti. We have only forgotten Mufti day once, and fortunately we live close enough to the school, to realise on our way there and still have enough time for the children to run back home to change. 

There are worse things than wearing school uniform on a Mufti day, and that, as my friend discovered, is getting the day wrong and sending them wearing Mufti on an ordinary school day!

The children were also invited to wear something spotty that day and donate 50p to Children in Need. This is a challenge in itself, not so much for the girls, but we resorted to circular stickers on socks and gloves for the boys.

I am all for good causes and the ‘Friends of’ do an amazing and full time job putting it all together, however, we have not even been to the fair yet and I feel even less inclined to part with more cash, just so the children can buy all this rubbish back again.

Bah Humbug!

Trickle Treat

I was reading with Emilia recently when we came across the phrase ‘trick or treating’ in her book.

“What’s that?” she asked

“What do you mean?” I asked, incredulous, “you know that, we’ve done it loads of times on Halloween.” I know it is only once a year, but you’d think now she’s eight, she’d remember at least four of the times.

“Oh!” she said, “I thought that was Trickle Treating.”

“Trickle Treating? That doesn’t make any sense though. It is called Trick or Treating as if people don’t treat you, you play a trick on them. Didn’t you know that?”

Talking it through, I realised that this has just never come up. No-one has not given them goodies on Halloween, in fact we only knock on the doors of those neighbours who are likely to do so.

Actually, until this year, we did ring the bell of a neighbour who apologetically answered his door empty handed. The children were away to the next door before he’d even finished his sentence. (Despite, Emilia being aware now that we were entitled to play a trick on him.) The need for sugar far outweighed the desire to toilet paper his house in retribution. It simply did not occur to them. Besides they’d already had enough fun with toilet paper in the ‘wrap up the mummy’ game at our street Halloween party.

 

Emilia’s belief that this was ‘trickle’ treat, did get me wondering about all the other stuff we have never explained, that we assume the children understand, just because it is obvious to us.

I found another example this week in the form of Patrick’s Christmas list.

This included:

mntl helicoct

mntl car

mntl baot

Emilia had taken the list and in her pink pen, corrected the spelling so I could understand it.

She had corrected it to ‘mocontrol’ (helicopter, car, boat.)

It took me a second, mocontrol? Of course ‘remote controlled.’

Another one I have never explained.

I do love their funny little misunderstandings. I had read nearly the whole series of the Naughtiest Girl in the school to Emilia before she admitted “I don’t know why they call her, the Bold Bad Girl, Mummy, because she has hair in the picture on the front cover.”

It did take me a minute or two to work out what she meant.

“No, not bald, bad girl, bold, - you know, meaning she is cocky, confident, headstrong, brave, cheeky.”

What had the poor girl been imagining all that time?

My sister grew up having a lovely image in her head of life being a ‘butter dream.’ This was from ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’ She never really got what a butter dream was, but went along with it anyway.

Anyway, back to Halloween. Our Halloween party was great fun, with all the children dressed up in weird and wonderful costumes, and some of the adults too. Mark came as some weird, creepy bearded photographer, with a clawed hand which would randomly and violently appear from his stomach to shock you at the least provocation.

We had some scary boxes for the children to put their hands into, full of;

Eyeballs and worms (peeled grapes and spaghetti)

Witches fingers (gnarly green pickles with a nut stuck in the top for a fingernail)

Guts (the slimy innards of a pumpkin) from which you had to retrieve a ping pong ball eyeball on which was written whether you got a Trick or Treat.

We did have crying at our party. I discovered there is nothing quite so dispiriting as seeing the little face of a child crumple and boo at the sight of my scary make up. At least, I hope it was the make up.

Non - Sense

I was having a conversation with Ben in the car today.

“How many senses are there?” he asks.

“Five” I say.

“No there aren’t, there are way more than that” he counters.

He likes to ask me things in that way. He knows I’ll come up with an answer that he can then contradict.

“What other senses are there then?” I challenge.

I mishear what he is saying from his position in the back of the car, and laugh out loud.

“Sense of humour, that is a good one.”

“I didn’t say that,” he says irritably

“What did you say then?”

“Sense of heat”

“That is not one” I tell him “that is just touch”

“What about knowing where parts of your body are without even looking?”

“Surely that is sense of touch too”

“Not if they are just in the air and not touching anything.”

“Well, I guess that is just an awareness of self, but it isn’t really a separate sense.”

“And there is the sixth sense” he finishes.

OK, smarty pants, I’ll give you that one!

Tooth Fairy Saga Continued

The next night comes and I know I now have to collect the tooth fairy’s change, (which the children dutifully provided from one of their money boxes), and also reply to their questions.

The question is what do I tell them? Where do the fairies get the money from? I imagine swarms of pickpocket tooth fairies with swag bags going through wallets and purses and buzzing down the back of sofas. They steal it? Nah – not sure that gives quite the right message. I wrack my brains. What about where they live? What is the official line?– at the bottom of the garden? Should I consult with the other tooth fairies in the neighbourhood to get our facts straight? Maybe I should stay non-specific and put “fairy land of course!” (with imagined tinkling laugh.)

Of course my delaying tactic of the night before (or that morning) had only escalated the problem – and given me more time to think about it. I also had another letter to answer,which had been left with the change. This one repeated the request for chocolate, on the condition they were very good, and had a PS, “can you leave us some fairy dust to prove your (sic) real?” It also, rather touchingly, said they hoped my busy night was ok. There was an ‘I Love You’ note from Emilia as well, done in fairy style, using curly handwriting she had copied from my letter, presumably so the fairies would be better able to read it.

Mark would have just said an outright no to the chocolate, fairy persona notwithstanding, but it was up to me, and I am a soft touch, fairy or otherwise, and hadn’t the heart to refuse them.

I meant to buy some chocolate that day but did not get round to it. It is important that the chocolate, supposedly from the fairy, can’t be chocolate that they may have already seen in the house.

A friend came to the rescue and gave me two bars of Kinder chocolate, (unbranded in clear plastic) 4 blocks in each, and satisfyingly resembling teeth. I decided to just leave the one bar between them, which meant I had to eat the other myself, in case they came across it at a later date and made the connection. Once I’d disposed of the evidence pointing to Mummy being in possession of fairy chocolate, I set about drafting my fairy letter reply. I tried to keep it short but it still took ages putting the curly bits on every single letter of every word. I said no, regrettably, to being their pen pal, claiming the night was too short to even keep up with replying to the notes left with teeth. I told them there were boy fairies, and to tell Pat I mustn’t give away our fairy secrets, (thereby getting out of answering his questions altogether.) Finally, I wrote that I would leave chocolate just this once, but don’t eat too much, as we like shiny, white teeth, not ones with holes in. I thanked them for the change and signed off,  Love Tina the Tooth Fairy.

Then I remembered about the fairy dust. My first thought was to use glitter, but I decided that was too obvious. I settled on using my sparkly mauve eye shadow some of which I brushed into a small paper packet for them. I then put the chocolate, letter and fairy dust under Patrick’s pillow and went to bed.

I did ask myself several times that evening, what on earth are you doing? These are ridiculous lengths to go to just to keep the tooth fairy myth alive!

I remember my brother once trying to rumble Father Christmas. He tied a piece of string from his stocking to his big toe, under the duvet, so when Father Christmas picked up his stocking to fill it, it would yank his toe and wake Nicholas up in time to catch Santa in the act. This would have been a genius idea if it hadn’t been for the fact Nicholas had then gone and told Dad of his plan. He woke up in the morning and was extremely disappointed to discover the string had been neatly snipped in the night and his plan foiled.

The positive effect of the Tooth Fairy debacle was that the children felt they needed to earn the chocolate they had been brought by being good. By the time we woke up, the younger three had dressed, made their beds, emptied the dishwasher and brought Mark and me cups of tea in bed (up two flights of stairs.) Only then did they ask permission to eat the chocolate.

So perhaps it was worth all the effort. Although, after all that they never even mentioned the fairy dust!

Afterwards, Ben had a read of my fairy note, looked across at me, then gave a knowing wink and sly thumbs up. "What?" I asked innocently "Don't you believe in the tooth fairy then?" He rolled his eyes. I think he might be onto me.

Tooth Fairy Fiasco

Yesterday really wasn’t the best time for Patrick’s tooth to come out. At first, he thought he had left it at school, but I later discovered it in his book bag, packaged up in paper with a message, ‘for the tooth fairy.’

On my calendar was the Secondary School Open Evening for prospective parents and pupils 6-9pm, followed by a Year 2 Mums' night out. So at some point in a bit of a busy evening, all I had to do was to swap the tooth from under his pillow for a pound. Not a tall order you might think. However, it is only Patrick’s second tooth to have fallen out so the whole tooth fairy thing is a bit of a novelty and there was great excitement about her anticipated visit.

After school was chaotic, with Ben trying to complete his numeracy homework and history project last minute, Emilia doing her numeracy and me trying to listen to Patrick and then Emilia read,( as I wouldn’t be there at bedtime to do it,) while burning the fish fingers. I was distracted trying to correct Ben’s spelling mistakes and was furiously rubbing out, and making him re-write bits of his awful handwriting. We nearly came to blows about the correct way to form the letter r (like a walking stick, not like a boating hook.) Meanwhile, I am also trying to get Emilia to pick out ‘exciting words’ from her reading book,  that apparently I have to write down in her reading record, as she is “not allowed to”!?!

Rachel was actually playing beautifully by herself in the living room, but making big mess in the process.

I hate trying to get out the house before 6pm. The chores just don’t get done. Usually by bedtime, the dishwasher is loaded and on, kitchen swept, toys tidied, downstairs hoovered, and I have nagged the children sufficiently that they have helped too, laid their clothes out ready for the morning and put their dirty clothes in the laundry. If I am not there, only some of it happens.

All the time, I am frantically trying to get things done, I can hear Patrick and Emilia plotting and writing a letter to the tooth fairy. Emilia is getting Rachel to do a drawing for the fairy, and they are writing down questions for her!

Bloody fantastic, I think, that is all I need, after a quite possibly, boozy night out, to come home to sit a tooth fairy test.

Must remember, must remember – money for tooth.

At ten to six, my Dad and Mum take over, and I dash out with Ben, leaving them with three half- bathed and pyjama’d children, and no instructions.

When we return after 9pm, there is some semblance of calm, the house is still a bit of a state, some dirty pants and socks haven’t made it to the laundry basket, the bath is still full of cold, dirty water and Emilia and Patrick are in bed together, but asleep.

I should have twigged at this point that they were together waiting for the tooth fairy to come, and I could have just delegated the task to Mark, but it went completely out of my head. We were having a ‘what did you think of the school’ debrief in the kitchen, while I tried not to be distracted by the remnants of that evening’s tea crunching unpleasantly under my feet. Mark and Ben were both heading for bed shortly, so I was free to join the Mums' Night. After slapping on some more make- up, I hurried out of the door to the pub. My tooth mission was forgotten altogether.

I got home late and removed a sleeping child from my bed, before falling into it myself.  At 6.15 am, a squiggling child, who has returned at some point in the early hours, demands a cup of milk. I struggle out of bed and make my way, bleary eyed down to the kitchen. I prodded Ben awake on the way past and suggested he might like to get up early and finish his homework before school. Surprisingly he did. I was going to go back to bed, but Rachel had other ideas.

I was helping her get dressed when Emilia came in and announced the tooth fairy hadn’t been yet.

Bugger, bugger – I hadn’t remembered to do it – but it was still dark, Patrick wasn’t awake yet – there was still time – except for the letter and the questions. How on earth was I going to manage this?

It is pretty standard practice in our house for the tooth fairy to come in the morning, once I have been reminded. I mostly forget that they have a tooth under their pillow, but children are gullible. I’ve done the coin in my hand – then, oh look here it is.... must have fallen down the side of the bed.... trick, but this was a little more complicated. I give the children a little velvet pouch to put the tooth in. It is mainly to help me find the tiny little tooth, otherwise I’d be feeling around under their pillow for ages and risk waking them. They rarely check if the tooth is still in there, they just notice the absence of money.

Anyway, while the children are distracted making toast in the kitchen, I surreptitiously dig out my purse. No pound coins – damn! There is a shiny two pound coin in there though. I contemplate the fall out of this; “How come Patrick gets £2, I only ever get £1”....etc,etc. I think for a moment, then tear off  a scrap of paper that’s to hand and write in my best curly writing with a short lead that has fallen out of a propelling pencil;

Dear Children

Busy night for teeth

Must fly

Leave me some change and I’ll be back tonight to answer your questions

       x x x x

Love the Tooth Fairy

Genius.

I am hidden in the bathroom at this point with the money and the note. Patrick has woken up now but has gone straight downstairs and not thought to check under his pillow. I have only seconds until Emilia reminds him. I hear a squabble in the kitchen about Patrick not wanting to eat the toast Emilia has made him, so satisfied I won’t be caught in the act, I sneak into Patrick’s room and make the transfer, taking the tooth and children’s letters, which I haven’t seen yet. I stuff the tooth in my pyjama pocket (which reminds me, it is probably still there) and the letters I shove in a drawer to read later, then I innocently jump in the shower.

I hear pounding feet as they race up the stairs, clearly having suddenly remembered. Patrick sees the £2 coin and squeals excitedly, “it is chocolate, it is chocolate.” I never leave chocolate – oh no, I thought, what had they written about chocolate? It would be quite wrong of the tooth fairy to leave chocolate, sweets rot your teeth, and make them fall out. In fact, I believe I may have even told them at some point that only greedy fairies leave chocolate, as they want more teeth. You have to have an answer for everything when they are comparing notes with other children. The Tooth Fairy who visits the kids up the road leaves real money and a chocolate coin apparently.

My sister complained recently “I can’t believe they get a whole pound! 20p is the going rate, that is all Charlie is going to get”

“You can’t do that,” I told her “what about inflation?”

“Surely that doesn’t affect the tooth fairy”

“Sadly, I think it does” I said.

My friend had warned me not to get into the whole Tooth Fairy letters thing. She didn’t really think it through and actually initiated the letter writing herself. When her eldest child lost his first tooth, she left money and a detailed letter beautifully and painstakingly scripted in special curly fairy writing. It was fun at first but of course she had to do it for another two children as well. It got to the point where if she went away, she had to leave an emergency letter, in case one of them lost a tooth in her absence, and someone else had to carry out tooth fairy duties.

I was determined not to do that. I thought, just keep it simple, swap a tooth for a shiny gold nugget (£1 coin) – job done.

I didn’t count on Emilia leaving notes when she’d lost a tooth, begging the fairy to write back. What kind of tooth fairy ignores a letter from a child? I was sucked in.

I have just looked at the letter Emilia wrote on Patrick’s behalf. It is a pity Patrick didn’t write it, as then the tooth fairy could have just written in reply

“Sorry Pat, can’t read your writing” and it would be all over.

Emilia wrote:

Dear the tooth fairy

Please will you send me Emilia and my brother pat some chocolate, it is pat who has lost his 2^nd tooth but there is some questions we want know.

Q

·        can I have a fairy pen pall – E

·        where do you live and where do you get the monney – P

·        Are there such things as boy fairys – if there are can I have a pen pall – P

Please reply on sheet of plain paper  (this was provided under the pillow)

from !

Emilia age 8  Patrick age 6  Rachel age 3

Enjoy present

The ‘present’ was essentially coloured scribbling from Rachel entitled

Drawing by sister Rachel – she said it was for you

Oh my life! No they can’t have a flipping pen pal. I am dreading any more teeth falling out as it is. Apparently children have 24 teeth and they lose 20 of them. I can’t believe it is that many and I hope that maybe many of those fall out after they stop believing in the tooth fairy. Apart from the hassle factor with 4 kids, that is £80 spent funding the tooth fairy. I think Liz might have a point about the 20p.

The Haircut

Emilia had never in her life had her haircut. This was not a conscious decision, just something we never got around to doing. Life was busy, having had two smaller children to deal with after her, it was low priority and dropped off the To Do list.

After a while it became her ‘thing,’ everyone would comment on the length of it, and we went past the point where cutting it would be insignificant.

It was often the source of battle between us, and the screams, as I attempted to brush and detangle, would reverberate around the neighbourhood. It truly sounded as if I was torturing her, not merely brushing her hair.

Washing it, drying it and re-plaiting it was quite an undertaking, and probably happened less often than it should. However, it never looked greasy and like a dog’s coat, was presumably conditioned by its natural oils. At least, that is my defence.

She was not always difficult about me doing it, and truth be told, when she was distracted by screen or book, I secretly quite enjoyed the ritual. It was therapeutic and deeply satisfying when it was done, and I could glide the brush through from root to tip, with the ends fanned out on the carpet where she sat.

I threatened to cut it all off many a time, when she shrieked her objections whilst I chased her round with a brush. Mark began to worry when she wore it loose, that it would get caught in an escalator or train door or something.

I got the idea for cutting her hair for charity, at a blood giving session. One of the male nurses there was going to cut and donate his hair and was collecting money for the Little Princess Trust. It was the first I had heard of it, and I thought it was a brilliant thing to do. I read there about how the charity collected the hair donations to give to a wig making company, who then supplied real hair wigs free of charge, to children suffering hair loss, either through cancer treatment or another condition. The charity was set up in memory of a little girl who sadly lost a short battle with cancer in 2005. The picture of the little girl, Hannah Tarplee, reminded me so much of my own two blonde girls, and I felt very moved by her story.

It was in the back of my mind for a while before I broached it with Emilia, but she is a kind girl and I knew she would want to help. We watched the videos together on the charity’s website so she had a real idea of the impact her cut hair would have on someone’s life.

As fond as she was of her crowning glory, at eight years old, we were getting to the point where her long hair was an obstacle to her independence. It would be so much better if she could manage it herself. She could wash it by herself, but would end up putting more tangles in, if she tried to brush it.

Her only fear was that no one would recognise her once she’d had it cut. We reassured her, this was fairly unlikely. Although I have to say, she isn’t so instantly recognisable in a crowd anymore, even for me, her own mother.

She came back from school one day saying “Mummy, I have to cut it now, I have told everyone in my class I am going to.”

We then set up the sponsorship site and set a date for the cut. We were staggered by how many friends and family contributed, the money kept going up and more and more people would enthuse about the whole idea.

Emilia was far cooler about it than I was. We had the haircut done at home. She was a little bit quiet during the cut and when the plait came off, but I think (unusually for the attention-seeking child that she is) that she was a bit overwhelmed with the focus on her. Mark was taking photos and film and her brothers and sister popped in and out to take a look. Our lovely hairdresser, Jemma, had brought her three secondary school age children with her, and with everything going on, Emilia was uncharacteristically shy.

Later that evening, she was swinging her shorter hair around (that by anyone else’s standards is still long) and trying every different style she could think of, bunches, half up, half down and doing her own pony-tails. It was a revelation, and she was thrilled. The plait of cut hair was wrapped tightly in tissue paper to be posted off to the Little Princess Trust and it was lovely to think that it would make a difference to someone.

Going into school the next morning was nerve-wracking for her, and she said she didn’t want to go. We obviously did, and when we got there, I unwrapped and showed the severed plait to her teacher and some of the class, while she clung onto me in embarrassment. She was crippled with self-consciousness and started to cry when I tried to leave.

This looked awful – I felt that it now appeared that I had forced my daughter into doing this charitable act, it was cut against her will, and she hated it and was mortified how it looked. This wasn’t the case at all, she just couldn’t handle the attention. I mumbled something about her liking it really, and ushered her into the cloakroom, where she continued to fuss. Ironically, the more upset she got at me leaving her, the more she drew attention to herself and the worse people stared. If she’d just got on with it, people would have barely batted an eyelid. People were nothing but nice about it.

It is all a bit of a ploy with her. After being all coy and not wanting people to notice it, the first thing she did at Brownies was to go up to Brown Owl and say “I’ve had my hair cut” and give her a twirl.

She was looking forward to the end of her swim lesson today, when she would be able to take down her hair and brush it out like the other girls.

This morning, I hurriedly stuffed her swimming costume into her bag together with a towel and what I thought was her faded, red, material swim hat, from the clean washing pile.

On my double check of her things, I discovered, it was actually a pair of my dark pink knickers. I chuckled to myself as I envisaged her lined up with the other children at the pool side with a pair of pants on her head.

Now that really would give her something to be embarrassed about.

Aide-mémoire and Songs to Remember

Patrick has been learning some techniques at school to help with his spelling. They use silly sentences to help the children remember how to spell simple words. 

For example, to spell ‘was,’ remember ‘worms and slugs,’ for

‘saw,’ remember slugs and worms. ‘Said’ is ‘silly ants in dustbins.’

Generally this works quite well, until you get to the longer sentences.

The latest sentence, to help spell the word ‘because,’ was ‘big elephants can’t always use small exits.’ Simple right?

Unless, you are Patrick. “I know this,” he says excitedly, “b, e, c.... big elephants can’t ....always go through little exits.....b,e,c,a”

Nope, not going to help  -  becagtle? – not even close.

At breakfast the other morning the children were all trying to remember a song they had heard.

“Naa, na, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na...chasing the sun” sings Patrick.

“No it isn’t that,” says Emilia, and trills  “It’s Naa, na, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na. ...face in the sun.”

“Isn’t it place in the sun?” I ask (not singing it)

“No it is not,” Patrick assures me, and he is off again singing “it is Naa, na, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na....chasing the sun.”

“No”, counters Emilia, “it’s (sings)Naa, na, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na, naa, naa, na, na, na....face in the sun!”

And on and on the tuneful argument goes. We never discovered, who was right, could be all of them for all I know. I did recognise the song but I’m clueless about the lyrics.

I love how they mishear lyrics. My nephew Charlie, believes the words to  ‘Moves Like Jagger’ to be ‘Move my Dragon’ and sings “ooohh, ooh,ooh, ooh,ooh, I’ve got to move my dragon..........moooooooove my dragon!’

I know a few adults too, who have been unknowingly, wrongly singing lyrics for years.  One recent correction made in our family was the line from the Feed the World Christmas song, which was believed to be “the greatest gift they’ll get this year is RICE’ rather than, the rather more powerful ‘life.’

The children like to sing the grace from school, which goes to the tune of the Addams Family.

Lord, we are so grateful

For every cup and plateful

Lord we are so grateful

We’re in your family

Da da da da (with clap)Thank You

Da dad a da (with clap) A – Men

Rachel, either, because she can’t remember it, or because she can’t be bothered, sings:

“Arfa, arfa, plateful” and joins in the clapping and da da da das.

She clearly feels she is only getting half a plateful so why should she be grateful?

Emilia is constantly singing show tunes. We were trying to remember the words to ‘Maybe’ from Annie, while out walking the other day.

Emilia sings “Maybe in a house, all hidden by a hill,

She may be playing piano, he may be straightening his tie”

“I don’t think that is right Emilia” I say “the first line needs to rhyme with tie”

“I know,” she says, “it is (sings)‘maybe real near by, or maybe far away, she maybe pouring his coffee, he maybe paying a bill.’”

“No Emilia, it is easy, listen for the rhyme,” I sing the ‘hidden by a hill’ line, rhyming it with the ‘paying a bill’ and point out that nearby must follow far away to rhyme with 'tie.'

Yes, she says, “I’ve got it, Maybe far away or maybe real nearby, he maybe pouring her coffee, he may be playing a bill.”

So frustrating! After every correction we make – she has to sing through all of the other catchier verses, that she has remembered:

Betcha they're young
Betcha they're smart
Bet they collect things
Like ashtrays, and art!
Betcha they're good -- 
(Why shouldn't they be?) 
Their one mistake 
Was giving up me! 

So maybe now it's time,
And maybe when I wake 
They'll be there calling me "Baby"... 
Maybe. 

Betcha he reads
Betcha she sews
Maybe she's made me
A closet of clothes!
Maybe they're strict
As straight as a line... 
Don't really care
As long as they're mine! 

After much discussion, of whose doing what for whom, and where, we finally got it.

Emilia, at the top of her voice, sings beautifully, much to the amusement of other Leith Hill walkers.

“Maybe far away
Or maybe real nearby
He may be pouring her coffee
She may be straightening his tie!
Maybe in a house
All hidden by a hill
She's sitting playing piano,
He's sitting paying a bill!”

And then the rest of it, again and again....Painful or what? 

At least it was an inoffensive song. Unlike the ones we used to sing as children.

My brother aged 3 said to my Father,

“I want to hear the shit song?”

“I beg your pardon, Nicholas?” said Dad, appalled but intrigued. “How on earth does that go?”

Nicholas sings “I’d like to teach the world to sing and furniSHIT with love.”

I think we’ll stick with Annie.

Christmas - already!

It has started, I can’t believe it, the children have been designing Christmas cards at school, the school Christmas fair is planned for the end of November, and a particularly sickeningly, organised friend of my neighbours, has already wrapped and delivered their Christmas presents to them. It is EARLY OCTOBER!

I need to get Ben’s November birthday out of the way before I can even think about Christmas. It is trying to creep in though. Rachel has just asked me to put on Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer – the Movie. Where did she even find that? Patrick, rather sweetly, used to call it, the one about the ‘merry Christmas horse.’

The stock answer in my house to any ‘I would like to get’ notions, is “Put it on your Christmas list, then.” Of course they never do, and I think I’ll remember what they’ve asked for, and don’t, so it looks like it will be another stocking full of pants and satsumas this year. On the positive side Patrick has got rather a taste for satsumas lately.

I heard a story once, about a child who received, among his gifts, pieces of coal or potatoes in his stocking, which replaced the presents he would have got, had he always been good. My friend’s son thought the satsuma in his stocking was like that, and spent Christmas morning wondering about the naughty thing he must have done to deserve it.

My brother took the ‘Better watch out, Santa’s watching’ bribe, to a new level, when one year, he told his sons that the red flash of some burglar alarm or sensor in some of the rooms in their house, was Father Christmas, keeping an eye on them, making sure they were behaving.

Anyway, it is far too early for talk of Christmas, my children are already busy planning their trick or treating costumes, and it is still three weeks until Halloween! If only they were so forward planning in their homework.

Turn of Phrase Gone By

Rachel called Emilia, ‘Emilia’ for the first time recently. Up until now it has been ‘Beelia.’ It struck me as quite sad really, when children grow out of their quirky pronunciation of things. I am sure it is not the last time we’ll hear her shout for ‘Beelia,’ but eventually a lot of the things she used to say will be forgotten altogether, as we have those of the other children....

Well, they would have been, if I hadn’t written a lot of them down.

Grandad was called ‘Trantad.’ Ben often put in Ts where they didn’t belong. ‘Trelephant’ was one of these. He also used to leave out crucial letters. He’d talk about things being ‘inchenching’ – interesting. It is no wonder he can’t spell now. Aged 2, he called Grandma, ‘Marsh,’ presumably, from hearing us say we’re going to ‘Grandma’s.’

Ben’s pronunciation, has always been a little dodgy, he has a bit of a lisp. I remember wondering what on earth he could mean, when he described the Disney film Dinosaur, as being ‘a bit gay,’- he was trying to say ‘a bit scary.’

 I was very relieved when he grew out of one particular phase where everything he said sounded like the F word; ‘shark’ ‘fork’ ‘rocket’ could all easily be misconstrued. Fortunately he was quite a quiet child. Most alarmingly, was his ‘Thank you very much’ which was often met with quite a startled response before realisation dawned that he was actually being polite.

Present day Ben obviously talks properly, but occasionally a word that he has only ever seen written down will come out wrong. When I lost the ring on my necklace, inscribed with Patrick’s name, he told me that it was a bad ‘ommen.’ 

My favourite of theses mis-readings was from my friend’s son who was reading aloud to her about a Magic Ian, before she realised he was just reading wrongly the word ‘magician.’

A lot of the funny ways kids say things are common to all children, and just due to the peculiarity of the English language, that they haven’t quite mastered. It makes sense when they say; ‘I did be the farmer’,’ I am the shoppinger’, ‘I goed or I wented,’ and we know what they mean.

 My personal list of childhood grammatical errors, recorded by my father, included;

He drawed

He knowed

He swimmed

He tooked

He standed

He didn’t did it

I keeped

Look at my foots.

Apparently I always used to say ‘d’yes’ and my buzz word was ‘anyway.’ A spoon was a ‘spewn’ and things would be done in a ‘monent.’ A thing was a verb to me, as in ‘the car thinged today,’ suggesting something might have ‘falled off it.’

I used to leave the front off words too, saying things like, ‘’culiar’ and ‘larm clock,’ and talk of ‘blins’ meaning goblins. Also, of the reciprocal visits between my house and the house my friend from playgroup, I would say,

‘He’s been to mine and I’ve been to hims.’

Another conversational foible of my children, is to take a phrase, and leave out significant words, so it no longer makes any sense, for example, ‘Please may I get down from the table, thank you for my lovely dinner,’ Rachel has shortened to ‘thank you for my lovely table.’

Or the children combine two phrases into one, which then doesn’t really work.

Ben used to say ‘you’re welcome’ combined with ‘that’s all right’ and it would come out ‘that’s your welcome,’ which means nothing.

Rachel makes me laugh, playing hide and seek, as instead of saying ‘ready or not – here I come!’ she shouts ‘Coming or not!’  Again, utter nonsense.

Another expression of hers is ‘in my WHOLE EVER.’ A combination of ‘best in the whole wide world’ and ‘best ever’, leaving out the essential word best.

Ben used to have his own version of ‘once upon a time’ or ‘one day’ and insist you start a story ‘one little day.’

I have lists and lists of their funny expressions, and the day is creeping up where no-one will refer to the doorbell as the ‘ding-bell’ or ask me to ring it, as Rachel does, by saying ‘Do the Bing Bong then!’ Nobody will be telling me how stuff is ‘ridiclious’ and ‘fablious anymore, or talk like Patrick about the ‘hosstipal.’

I think now, I’ll miss the kids-speak, but it is such a gradual thing, I am sure when we get there I won’t even notice it has gone.

The Green Eyed Monster

Patrick ran in from playing at a friend’s house yesterday saying;

 “I wish we had a TV where we eat, that we can watch at dinner time. My friend is way luckier than us! He has sweets when he comes home from school and his own computer!”

I wasn’t rising to it, except to quietly point out my reasons for doing things differently, but Ben leapt to our defence.

“But Patrick,” he said “Does he have a tree house?”

“No”

“And does he have his own room?”

“Yes”

“But does he sleep in a big bed like yours?”

(Patrick sleeps in a double bed, purely on the basis that he can be kicked out of it to share with Ben, when we have guests.)

“No” agreed Patrick and nothing more was said about it.

Patrick does seem to covet other people’s stuff. He loves another friend’s Dad’s ‘way cool’ car and he asked me recently,

“When we finished saving up for Disney Land, can we start saving up for a Porsche?”

He doesn’t hold his under-privileged upbringing against us though and forgets very quickly. Not only can he not remember what he did yesterday, he can’t actually remember the word for ‘yesterday’ either.

He had to ask me, accompanied by lots of illustrative hand gestures;

 “What do you call the back day? – the day, one day back?”

Assistant Parent

Very often when I am struggling to reason with one of the children, I give up, and hand over to Ben. He seems to be able to reach them in a way I can’t, particularly with Patrick. Ben is nearly eleven now, but he has always been very mature about these things. It is quicker to get Ben to get Patrick to do whatever it is I need him to do, than to try and persuade him myself. If Patrick is having a meltdown about something, Ben somehow manages to distract him, or reason with him and create calm. Lately the issue is school again. One morning, when the children aren’t ready, Patrick is refusing to cooperate, it is time to leave, and I am starting to lose my cool, Ben pipes up “Mum, do you want me to deal with it?”

“Please do” I say, as I continue readying bikes and scooters and distributing school bags. I stand with the girls at the bottom of the steps, waiting for Ben to work his magic, and the boys to emerge from the house.

No joy, this is taking too long. I race up the steps again all ready to wade in. “We’ve got to go now, come on Patrick!”

“Mum!” says Ben “Don’t come in all shouty and stuff, I’ve got this.”

“Fine,” I say, “You bring him to school. Catch us up,” and I leave with the girls.

A little way up the road, I feel I need to double back and check Ben’s been able to convince Patrick to come and that they are on their way. The girls go on with a neighbour. I see no sign of the boys, but hear their voices as I approach the house. I duck into a neighbour’s driveway and hide. As Ben pointed out, it is better that I stay out of it. I’ll only make it worse, if Patrick sees me, there might be an escalation of tears and tantrums and I’ll be forced to carry him to school.

I watch, as Ben piggy backs Patrick down the steps, (this looks ludicrously dangerous, he seems almost as big as Ben.) I then eavesdrop on his persuasion techniques.

Ben “Shall I race you Patrick? I’ll run and you go on your scooter.”

Patrick (obstinately) “But I just don’t want to go to school”

Ben “If you’re not well, maybe Mummy can bring you home again. Shall I play Minecraft with you after school?”

They set off, Ben talking to him all the while. I shadow them, still out of sight, feeling faintly ridiculous, until a parent spots me and starts a conversation. The boys turn and rumble me. By this time though Patrick’s protest has dissipated somewhat and is now only a low murmuring of discontent. Ben did it, (enough for me to get him into school that day anyway.)

A few days after, Ben let me in on his secret.

“Mum?” he asked on the walk to school one morning “do you want to know how I get the others to do what I want?”

“Yes, how do you?”

“Well you know the carrot and the stick?”

“Yes”

“Well, I have a really big carrot, and NO stick.”

PGL - The Aftermath

I don’t know whether PGL actually stands for Parents Get Lost or whether that is just a rumour started by some kid that has become fact through popular belief.

Anyway, the parents did ‘get lost’ for the duration of Year 5’s trip, and so it was with some excitement that we all awaited the arrival of the coach from the Isle of Wight bringing the children back to us.

As anticipated, I had heard nothing from Ben at all. I gathered from another mum whose son did write, which boys he had been sharing a room with, but nothing else. I knew all the climbing and physical challenges thrown at them in this sort of trip would be right up Ben’s street and was keen to hear all about it.

I wasn’t really expecting a change in him, but the boy who sauntered off the coach with his backpack nonchalantly thrown over one shoulder and a heavy silver skull ring on his finger seemed a little older than the Ben who went away.

He accepted my hug, though I didn’t particularly feel the love in return, that’s not new, in public anyway.

I asked him how it was; “Brilliant,” but he didn’t offer any details. We joined the throng of people collecting their luggage, Ben was getting impatient and once we had his bag, he didn’t want to hang around.  “Mum, can we just get out of here now!?” he said, with all the charm of a moody teen.

We did, and on the short car journey home, after a lot of questions from me, I began to get more of his news. The highs – all the activities and challenges, and being one of the only kids to make the ‘leap of faith’ jump from pillar to trapeze, the lows – being put in a group with his least favourite boys, getting soaked when he tripped over a mop and bucket in the canteen and being sick. I got the impression he’d had a great time though. When I pulled out a half written letter from his bag later, which was scrawled on a page ripped from his small notebook, he wrote that he hadn’t time to write a proper letter, as he was having to (sic) much fun.

When we got in, he greeted his sister in a slow lazy drawl;

“Hey Emilia, high five.”

That, I thought, is definitely a child who has spent all week with his peers.

This ‘coolness’ has since rubbed off though. He just ran past me making helicopter noises and chasing Patrick in a very noisy game involving a small wooden helicopter and some trains. I am so glad the trip didn’t make him grow up that much.

He felt different though. When he was in bed that night I walked past his room and he told me in a reflective moment;

“I think I learnt a lot from the Isle of Wight experience.”

“Did you Ben?” I said, surprised at this uncharacteristic confession, “Like what?”

“Well, more independence I think.”

“Oh well, that is good then,” I said. He didn’t add any more and I turned to go.

“Oh Mum?” he called “Could you just get me a glass of water?....and could you just turn the light on while I drink it....and could you just turn it off again afterwards?”

Yup, I thought, real independent.

Other details of the trip gradually emerged – some from my foray into his rucksack – there were some seriously muddy clothes, but many unworn, so I figured he’d basically worn the same thing for five days, including the jeans that were meant for the disco. It had been specified on the kit list, that jeans were unsuitable for activities, but he obviously worn them anyway. He had managed to lose his towel – which I had foolishly bought new for the trip, as I found we didn't have an appropriately sized one.

There was a photo of him, taken on his disposable camera, apparently cleaning his teeth, so at least there was some level of hygiene maintained.

He lost some jogging bottoms, which turned up in another boy’s luggage and gained a pair of socks belonging to a different boy in his bag, but otherwise, did quite well, in terms of responsibility, and managing himself without me there to remind.

Ironically, on questioning, it appeared he had never even used the brand new towel. When asked when it was, he had last had a bath or shower, he replied “I dunno, but it wasn’t in the Isle of Wight.”