Do your homework people

I am learning to accept and embrace the fact that I am in a phase of my life that is entirely dominated by play doh, potties, CAD plans and carpenters. Lucky that I am, I genuinely struggle to gather a cohesive thought beyond this privileged middle class family idyll. Oh pooooooooor me. But the thing is, whilst I periodically tell myself it's enough for now, sometimes it is not - and here's the reason today.

POLITICS

Between the pampers, paw patrol, sinks and sisal - I have been desperately trying to sift through, cogitate, digest or even simply understand what is going on at the helm of Grand Bretagne... For several months now. Like many I imagine, the keen interest swelled during the buffoonish bus brigade before Brexit. The frenzied politicians, the play ground taunts, the gesticulations, the ambiguity. Quite honestly I didn't vote with much conviction (not that it matters now) because I found it so damned hard to work out what actually was right for the future of our country (children) and whose policies and campaigns had more gravity and less false-truths or blatant lies.

So here I am again, with (in all likelihood) another opportunity to vote for what I think is right and fretting at the prospect of yet another 'Grange Hill meets Britains Got Talent' competition between MPs. It's like a bizarre reality show watching Politicians contradict themselves, hurl abuse at each other, fabricate important stats to back their campaign and desperately canvas for popularity in a multitude of strange ways.... Ok perhaps some of that I gleaned from watching across the pond with morbid fascination at the Hillary/Trump-off. But to me politics has become much the same everywhere, perhaps it always has been. Cloak and daggers, (often less cloaks) hot air and lies. 

My plea is MPs - have some decorum. Don't lie. Prove me wrong and make it simple. Then us common folk will actually vote for what we think we are voting for.

In the meantime if anyone has 'Politics for Dummies' 2017 - that would be much appreciated. 

Oh - and do your homework.

X

H Bomb for H Bomb

H Bomb and I had an (other) hour to kill and a meal to consume.

My tossing skills aren't what they once were.

The eve of lent has however handed me a meal costing less than a bag of quavers, 40 minutes of 'wholesome' kitchen-trashing happiness and a discussion on thermonuclear weapons and toadstools.

Just call me Mary-effing-Berry, Katie-flaming-Allsop, Edward-bombing-Teller, Bill-Fungal-Oddie or all of the above. Edu-kitchen is back and better than ever.

4 months

See 3 months. Add a few more smiles, more immunisations, more sleep (to an extent). Throw in some dribble, fists in the mouth, rolling and possibly teeth. Repeat. Now may be your pinnacle of tiredness. 

Things are set to get, dare I say it; easier. Its NEVER easy but you really are getting to know the little human now and give or take growth spurts and teething issues, the initial quagmire of guestimation is slipping away. Make the most of not having to puree the shit out of every bland fruit and root vegetable under the sun for hours on end to watch it be thrown all over your furniture week after week because weaning will be on your doorstep before you know it.

Food food glorious food.....

Nothing quite like it for screwing your mood. So follow me follow down to my hollow and there I shall wallow because of food, (not-so) glorious food. 

We are going through a 'phase' in our household. I am telling myself it is a phase. It has thus far lasted 3 weeks, 4 days and 15 hours and shows no sign of letting up. 

I am not sure how or when it started but the middle 2 males in our menage have taken to thoroughly enjoying how much they can piss me off and push my patience with their irksome mealtime shenanigans.  Its clearly a control thing. I am the joke and the baboons just flit about this zoo waving their bright bottoms in my face with sheer petulance. 

3 times a day, (5 if you include the inevitable twice daily snack-gate) they taunt me. 3 times a day I cogitate, create and present a variety of wholesome (ok, sometimes wholesome) meals. I give myself a little pep-talk, prepare for battle and I then sit back and wait for the circus to unfold. I mean I can't complain because the end result is almost always the same - clean plates and smiling faces but it is the predictable drama and melee that grate to my absolute core.

Breakfast

I offer them the same option they have most days, I know my kids and they know I know them so just start the day with a little test, a 'lets see how far we can push her before the sun has risen from the horizon' test. We haven't even got to 'the getting dressed obstacle course' that seems to amuse them for at least 20 minutes, it is a wonder how I get them out the door every day. I digress. It is predictable and no matter how I twist the offering, the same boring events unfold.. 

Boy 1.'I don't want any breakfast'
Boy 2. 'I have a tummy ache' 'I need biscuits for my poorly tummy'.  Me. 'You need to eat breakfast to give you energy to play today. Biscuits are not breakfast. Who wants Shreddies and who wants Cornflakes'
Boy 1. 'I want cornflakes'
Boy 2. 'I want Shreddies'
Me. Having distributed the chosen dishes 'Here you go, see who can eat theirs the fastest' (please just f****ing eat them without complaint)
Boy 1. I want the Digger bowl!!!
Boy 2. I want the ORANGE SPOON!
Me. 'Those are in the dishwasher, they are dirty, you can have them at lunch if you are good boys'
Cue some pained looks, some table banging, some huffing
Boy 1. 'My cornflakes aren't wet enough, I need to make them ALL swim'
Me. I decide to let him have a small win. With a joyous tone 'Here, have a tiny drop more and then you can eat them ALLL up'
Boy 2. 'I WANT CORNFLAKES!!!!!'
Me. 'sweetheart (!), if you eat all your shreddies you can have a vitamin' (soft, chewy, sweet vitamins are my breakfast saviour - thank you Haliborange.. a mildly guilt-free bribe that always gets results)
Feeding has begun
Boy 3. Giggle, giggle, gurgle, grab
Me. Here have a boob.

Even the the one with no words is joining the incessant meal time rebellion. My boobs are no longer the secret weapon. Its not enough any more to shut down his wails with a mammary; this boy just got curious and dare i say it - mischievous. He's earning his baboon-stripes and is soon to be welcomed into the pack ('the group' to be collectively correct). So help me.

Boy 3. Grab, chuckle, squirm, bite, yank
Boy 2. 'He needs a kiss mummy, I am coming to give him a kiss' jumps off his chair, knocks over the shreddies into Boy 1's lap.
Me. 'Sit back down until you have finished. Oh dear, never mind, mummy will clear it up.. good girl mummy'
Boy 1. Sobbing so hard he inhales a cornflake. Choking and sobbing and choking and sobbing. 'My legs are WET, they are cold and WET, they don't work any more' as he slides off his chair onto the floor. 
Me. putting boy 3 on the floor, run to get some form of cloth and towel to rectify the situation 'its ok darling, you will get changed really soon, its just milk' (and we all know theres no point in crying over it). Return 10 seconds later to find all 3 junior males on the floor, rolling around in a puddle of cornflakes and laughing.
'get back up now and eat your breakfast or I will put you up in the loft with the lights off'
Boy 1 and 2. Jump onto their chairs, wolf down the remainder of their breakfast (once I have mopped up and refilled depleted stocks) smirk and say 'what can we have now' 'our tummies hurt, we are hungryyyyyyyyy'

This happens EVERY meal time, breakfast being by far the less frustrating meal by virtue of the lack of effort in preparation.

And I don't lock my children in the loft with the lights off but when the last resort is reached that threat generally gets results. Either that or they are usually bored with this 'piss-off mummy game' and are just considering the next.

3 months

Ahhh the sacrosanct '12 weeks' that everyone is wading towards with out-reaching arms, bead on brow. The first parental rite of passage. Everything settles at this stage doesn't it? 

Well it does and it doesn't. It mostly does start to get less fraut as the mystery of the wee one unravels, you become tuned to its nuances and it starts to really enjoy the world it has been propelled into. Sometimes we target this hallowed 3 month marker only to find the baby is still fussy or tricky or a non-sleeper or all 3 which (when everyone has been banging on about how much easier it is when they hit 12 weeks) can be demoralising.

No matter how many times I hear it (and there is a reason cliches are cliches) I still chose to muffle-out  the wording of the well  coined phrase 'it goes soooooo quickly', but here's the thing - it does!!!! Scant consolation when you're propping your eyelids open with teething rings or corks (Hic) but it's like some crazy warp. Then we all look back with rose tinted binoculars (it feels that far away) forgetting the relentless jigging, swaying, singing, sweating, groaning, chuntering and merely mutter with smug fervour the same 4 words. The nostalgia is palpable. Truly, truly, truly - despite how it feels at times, it goes sooooo quickly!

3 months, wow. Take stock on what you and the wee mite have acheived in such a small amount of time. Enjoy the smiles and giggles and innocence. There are more hurdles to come - a lifetime of them. As one challenge is conquered, another one is beset.

2016 Alphabet

Andy Murray # 1

Brexit

Celebrity deaths

Donald Trump

Elections

Farage

Great British Bake Off

Hillary Clinton

Ice Bucket Challenge

Jo Cox

Kanye v Taylor

Leicester City

May, Theresa May

Netflix

Olympic medal record

Pokemon Go!

Queen 90

Refugees

Syria

Tim Peake

Unpredictability

Vote

Willcock, Patrick Willcock

Xenophobic US president 

Zika 

Boy oh Boy oh Boy - what's the big deal?

I am the mother of 3 boys. I am cursed. I lucked-out in the lottery of life, doomed by the definite prospect of years of wrestling, farts, grunts and chaos ahead. That is judging by reactions I receive wherever we go. This doesn't much bother me as its usually fairly well intentioned and mostly ignorant however it was when someone I know (with Jack, Jack and Jill) recently informed me that "it's just not the same having boys.... They get married and they just don't love you as much any more" that my hackles shot through the roof and it got me trawling through my foggy cerebral vacuum for what this meant and why it bothered me so much. I very shortly thereafter discovered the apparently well known phrase 'a daughter is yours for life, a son is your son until he takes a wife'. Meh. There are so many reasons I just can't tolerate these comments and this is why.....

Firstly, I flaming well LOVE being a mummy to boys.. Just as much I imagine as I would to girls. I have never had a preference to the gender of my babies and am jolly lucky with my lot in life. After 2 boys it was everyone's assumption that we would be desperately keen for a girl and whilst natural curiosity did veer us toward the pink at times,  we really were just delighted to welcome another human to the world and weren't fussed what colour it was. Is that so hard to believe? To recieve relentless pity makes me incredibly protective over my pure, innocent and seriously awesome Muskateers. What is so wrong with boys? They get bad wrap it vexes me.

Secondly, NO ONE CAN EVER PREDICT THE FUTURE. Brexit and Trumps triumph go some way to prove that. But seriously, my little boys have a wonderfully fulfilling and exciting life ahead of them, I hope. I aim to set them up for that but what I can't tell you (and none of us can) is what path they will lead. What struggles or excitement they might encounter threading their way through life's rich tapestry. HOLD THE PHONE... They might not marry, they might not marry a female ... Something about assuming/forecasting the future of a 3 year old seems ignorant to me. Just make it to adulthood, unscathed and happy please.

Thirdly, This is 2016 and for all its foibles we are in an era where the educated and decent people of our world accept and uphold the fact that the 'dividing' line between male and female is far less divisional than 5 let alone 50 years ago. Sure there are differences but they aren't polar and dissimilarity is often in character as much as anything else. Is it acceptable to think both girls and boys are awesome?

And lastly, I suppose this is also a note to my future self. Don't ever become that person desperately vying for your sons attention (against his work/loved ones/struggles/delights). You may have spawn the chap and had the task (grating though it was at times) of guiding him through this mad world we live in: you do not own him, you never did. You were just incredibly lucky to join him on his journey and watch with wonder as it unveiled.