Tribal

So Vince Cable called the Tories,’ Ruthless, calculating and tribal’ after last week’s elections and they had to agree, actually they took it as a compliment – ‘devour the weak’ seemingly their current motto, (the wheel chair bound protest this week receiving little media or public support due in part to the continued persecution from Mr Cameron – here’s a little test for you what’s the first word you think of when I say ‘benefit’ is it ‘cheat’?) poor Liberal Democrats they really didn’t stand a chance.

I joined my own little tribe to watch the F.A. Cup final, just at home on the telly, but still, certain rituals needed to take place. The baby dressed in full City strip – though the socks had to come off after a while as they were making his eczema flare, me in blue and white stripes to try and embrace the mood, my partner in lucky clover T-shirt and irrationally nervous.

Watching the two hour build up on the telly, my partner fizzy lager in hand began eating a pork pie.

‘I am hungry!’ the four year old said. This is what he always says if someone is eating, or if he spies stray chocolate in the fridge, or if he hears a ice-cream van it doesn’t matter if he has just eaten that second.

‘You can’t have this’ his Dad says.

‘But, I am hungry’ he sings.

‘Darling, you can’t have that it’s made from pigs!’ I bluntly say.

His big eyes widen, ’Real pigs?’

‘Yes’ I say.

‘But pigs are nice......’ he says. Possibly remembering our last holiday on a farm in Wales where he and all the other kids disregarding any health and safety rules followed the farmer round every morning to feed all the animals and collect eggs.......he may also remember the two little piglets that escaped and were chased all around the farm by a group of excited kids until the farmer’s daughter stepped in and set up ambush in the tennis courts (tennis courts?! well it was a holiday farm, don’t imagine a city girl like me can manage a holiday without a pool, flat screen T.V. and Jacuzzi!) which rescued the poor frightened things and we all went back to the barbecue.

‘Stop it!’ my partner says,’ I don’t want him to think I’m a monster!’

‘You can’t have it, because we don’t eat meat – not really, well we do eat fish, but that was a compromise I made with your Daddy when you were born........’

Too late! The monster seed has been sowed!

During my many years as a teacher it amazed me year on year that most children thought the farmer kept the animals for pets! Most horrified when they realised a ‘chicken’ is the same ‘chicken’ they ate in their KFC’s.

I’m not really against eating animals – so long as they are well cared for in life - it’s just not for me.

Anyway, a tense 90 minutes and goal later and City are the F.A. Cup winners! Our tribe wins, tears, cheers and high emotion!

Sleepy...

So once again we are fighting visitors in the night – a couple of hotel visits in family rooms over the Easter holidays don’t help.  My boy’s love us all being together, the eldest especially would stick to my side like glue if he could.

 I know how he feels I love him, I adore being with him I even miss him if he’s at his grandparents or sometimes even when he’s just at school and yet I need time without him, especially at night, our king size bed just isn’t big enough for three (or four as has become quite common) plus the toys he deems it necessary to bring along (as if it isn’t bad enough sharing with him and don’t think it’s just nice soft cuddly bears that come in - this week it’s been spiderman, space ships and particularly spiky transformers!)

I’m sure you know what I mean, kid’s seem to sleep in such comfort sideways  across the bed,  boiling hot, legs, elbows, feet in the most awkward position for the poor parents teetering on the edge of mattress.

I have a friend whose beautiful and non-nocturnal daughter stayed in a cot till she was three calm and peaceful – both mine learnt how to dangerously climb out by a year old., suffering carpet burns to the forehead on the first few attempts which just involved general ‘launching’ and see what happens!

When I tried to explain to him that it’s just too uncomfortable and that Mummy and Daddy need space, and that he had a perfectly comfortable bed he suggested we move his bed into our room and explained that he misses me in the night......

It got a bit easier when he went back to school, nothing seems to tire a four year old out more than the academic pressures of foundation stage especially with the addition of a medicinal drowsy piraton at bed time.

Instead of midnight to two the little creeping has got later and later so we’re now awake between four and six. It’s funny how six o’clock becomes a lie in isn’t it?!

Very early on Thursday morning, my partner gets up yawns, stretches and makes his way to the bathroom.

Gentle thumps down the corridor and a little warm toasty pie sneaks into bed.

‘Urgh!’ he cries still sleepy and with a sorrowful tone.

‘He’s pooed!’  he whines before realising the baby is not here, not in the bed and at least one room away.

Eyes still shut he moans,’ What’s that smell?’

‘Mummy, mummy, What’s that smell?’ he is crying now at this offensive smell polluting his little nostrils.

‘I don’t know darling, I can’t smell anything’ I murmur.

‘What is it? What is it? It smells like COWS!’

‘Shh, shh, shh!’ I sleepily whisper, ‘Go back to sleep!’

The smell of course is just his father’s side of the bed........

If that doesn’t put him off nothing ever will!