Brotherly Love

One of the things I’m most proud of as a Mum is how well my two children get on. Alright so at the moment they are only 5 and not quite 2 years old – they have plenty of time to fall out, but still for now I am happy.

When I was pregnant with my second son, my Mum warned me my first would be jealous, everyone thought he would be, they seemed to think this horrible, destructive, negative emotion would be inevitable.

I did a lot of things to stop him being jealous of course involved him in doing things for the baby, pretended the baby was talking to him in a funny old voice to make him laugh and told him ‘white lies’ about how the baby was feeling, ‘He really thinks you’re so good at that! He can’t wait to walk so he can do it too’.....cut to  baby staring into the corner of the room because a nice reflection is twinkling there – oblivious to the amazing jumping/ running/ playing his older brother was performing on his behalf!

My eldest always referred to his brother as, his baby that ownership and belonging made me happy, we were a secure family unit looking out for each other. Of course they squabble occasionally now, usually because they want the same thing but the eldest is so good at letting the toddler hold it first then asking nicely if he can have it – amazingly the toddler when asked politely gives up something he would fight for the death for if snatched away!

The toddler screams his brother’s name when we pick him up from school, ‘Wool, Wool, Wool!’ and copies everything the big one does, if the big one takes of his shoes, climbs on a tree, reads a book or  makes a knight and horse ride so does he – always.

Anyone who has met my own brother knows this camaraderie was not so evident in the early days with my own sibling. He takes great delight in telling our joint acquaintances that the calm gentle woman they consider a friend was once the wild child that bit his hand as he returned from hospital, stuck a drawing pin in his head and as he was being rushed to hospital after a fit said, ‘If he dies Mummy, can I have his toys?’ all before I reached four years old.

Don’t worry he definitely got his own back many, many times. One of his favourite tricks was to poke, poke, poke me until I hit him then screams crying for Mum, cuddling into her and laughing as I was sent to my room. My parents without realising it had pitted us against each other and driven a destructive competition – I am pleased to report we get on very well now.

Actually we were there for each other then when pushed. My brother also re-calls a time when alone at the park (yes, in those days we went almost everywhere without parents) a bigger boy kept firing his pea-shooter (really, beano-esque!) at his denim -short clad legs. Now, I did ask him to stop and I did warn him and we did move.......... but eventually I in my brother’s words,’ Ragged him round the park by his ear till he went home crying!’

My children see themselves as an extension of each other, the best little brother in the world – the best big brother in the world –it is me that makes them think that way,

If I occasionally forget to praise him the eldest will say, ‘That’s a kind thing to do for him isn’t it Mummy? – I’m a good brother Mummy’  To which I always have to agree!

Left ~Behind

One Step Behind................

I have never been one to keep up with anything, and in my mad flap of a life I’m usually running late in one way or another.

This winter the snowiest for years with snow not only falling but sticking around for weeks, I bought my boys a sledge for Christmas, handmade by a local guy and delivered on Christmas Eve still stinking of creosote, I wrapped it in tinsel and sat a giant snow ball teddy on it and waited for the little guys to discover it in the morning.

They were suitably excited and loved playing on it in the sitting room.... but alas no more snow and the sledge now languishes in the shed – but at least we’ll be one step ahead next year, if it snows surely?

Alongside the sledge in the shed is a paddling pool, (still in the box and never been used!) bought in the glorious sunny days this May, imagining a sun filled summer and easy, lazy days in the garden with a hose pipe ban...... the likelihood of us using it any time soon seems slight, as I type I’m wearing a scarf and putting on the heating mid-July.

Still, I’m about to research garden benches and parasols in the internet sales....ever the hopeful!

What I hate being behind on is stuff for the kids, dinner money, nursery fees, taking in P.E. kits, buying school shoes it makes me feel under criticism as a parent so you can imagine my shame at bringing home the little one from nursery on Monday.......

Since ‘Daddy’ has taken over child care duties things are not always as smooth as they might be........

The nursery had asked for more nappies on Friday, which I had bought and left in the hall by the door ready to go on Monday – as is his way my partner did not notice them – he really does not see the world as I see the world, he really does not notice the things I notice I guess it’s a matter of motivation, of interest, of concern.....

So the little one came home with ‘nursery spare’ written across his nappied bum in permanent marker pen!

‘How embarrassing!’ I thought and then he turned round and it was written across the front as well also in permanent marker pen – now he has had nappies at nursery before – unbranded! I can only conclude the staff were trying to send a message to my partner – do you think it worked? Of course not he didn’t even notice the words emblazoned across the boy’s tushie!

Even when he climbed up ‘Daddy mountain’ and shoulder shuffled his bottom literally right under his nose!

It will now be my responsibility to hand over the nappies on Friday as my work has finished for the summer, will I be able to do it without collapsing in a shameful heap?  Judged by the nineteen year old child care provider as ‘unfit’! Would my partner? He just would n’t even notice!

Hand, Foot and Mouth!

The 20 month old has hand, foot and mouth disease. Fortunately it is unlike the scarier foot and mouth disease enough that we don’t have to have him put down or burn his stable!

For those of you unfamiliar with this strange and Victorian slum sounding disease I will fill you in – basically it’s fairly harmless it affects children by giving them small blisters on (yes, you guessed it!) their hands, feet and mouth.

He has looked a little sorry sight, big blue eyes pleading and surprising still for long cuddles – oh yes and being incredibly, incredibly grumpy!

Until my eldest had it I hadn’t even heard of it and then we blamed the blisters on eczema and thought it was odd he spent weeks with his mouth slack-jawed open, gormless expression.  

‘Hmm, he must have burnt his tongue’ I vaguely thought.

He went off his food and dribbled an ocean of germ-filled slobber on every surface in the house.

My eldest had it around his first birthday, we were unaware and took our beautiful boy off to a professional photo shoot, hair and make up for me, the proud mother, changes of clothes for the progeny I was so proud of I didn’t even notice the tip of his poorly blistered tongue out of his mouth continually until I got back the proofs – bad mummy again!

Of course with the eldest I rushed to the doctors and was greeted with one of the most annoying phrase a G.P. can say to a mum,

‘Is this your first child?’ coupled with condescending tone and weak smile.

‘Argh!’ I scream (inside of course).....

‘Why? Why! Do you ask that?’ My internal voice continues.

‘I would bring any sick child to you, I will bring every sick child to you whether it’s my first baby or tenth!!!’ I rage..........

Of course it’s not true, baby number two blistered inside cheeks, toes and fingers with a rather vicious one on the thumb – has he been near a medical professional?

Well......

Monkey!

My eldest is creative, he tells incredible stories and plays interesting games which always start,’ Pretend that you..................then I................so you say......................... then I do............’ it’s quite a challenge to remember what you’re supposed to do in this role play extravaganza. (I usually get it wrong!)

There’s usually a bit of, ‘In real life......’ thrown in for good measure.

Yet, despite his creativity there is one area which he is a ‘it does what it says on the tin’ kind of little fella – and that is in toy names- his favourite soft toys are called ‘Bear’, ‘Doggy’, ‘Caterpillar’ and ‘Frog’. He never deviates to a ‘Big Bear’ ‘Woofer’, ‘Crawly’ or ‘Hoppy’ let alone a ‘Bill’ or a ‘Cedric’ or even a ‘Hahihooha’ (which I think is a fine name for a toy!)

He has a baby doll whose name is the same as his brother, bought around the same time as he was born and causing some confusion in the first few baby-hazed Mummy weeks of his life!

So I was surprised the other day when we were playing and I said, ‘I bet I can guess your name!’ to one of his toys,

‘Go on then’ he said in a monkey voice on behalf of the toy.

‘Monkey!’ I said.

‘Nooo’ he replied, with the most scornful look I have ever seen on a five year old!

‘Oh’ I said, ‘What is it then?’

‘Monkey – monkey’ he said, ‘It’s hyphenated!’

(O.K. he didn’t say it’s hyphenated but it startled me as much as it would have done had he!)

His use of language can be limiting and he conforms to all the childhood rules, some of which I had forgotten, for instance, he has an ‘enemy’ in his class at school who kicks him at play time and sometimes pushes him around.

He does now tell the teacher when this happens who puts the child in ‘time out’ – super nanny style I suppose.

This child is tiny.

My boy is nearly twice his size.

This child told him that because he is five and my boy is only four that he is stronger than him and not just that he can do a whole range of things my boy can’t like jump higher, run faster and so on.

My boy because of the childhood rules and of course the ‘magic’ found in age when you’re a kid (do you remember being astounded that grown up’s sometimes had to think to remember their age? Or being extremely hurt and offended if some old Granny or other forgot your age and assumed you were a year younger than you were?)  believes him.

This is despite me frustratedly explaining that he is taller, bigger and very probably stronger – but what do I know? He is convinced.

After his birthday last week I wondered if this would change, if my boy could hold his head up high proud of being the five year old he now is!

But no,

He came home from school complaining again about this enemy.

‘Darling, you are just as strong as him’ I said.

I got that scornful look again.

‘But I’m only five!’ he said and then with much emphasis, ‘Jack is five and a half!’

Birthday Party

So, the 5^th birthday spectacular is over! There were a few dramas along the way starting with the entertainment. I booked the very funny, ‘Bungling Barry’ when he heard this news the boy in an Elton John style tantrum declared he wanted Mr Tinsel, his friend Mr Tinsel, the hilarious Mr Tinsel, Mr tinsel the great! – who hands out his business cards to the children at parties, a savvy move as my boy keeps his by his bed like a tiny poster.

I made him a spiderman cake, staying up till nearly midnight icing, complete with vimto boot laces for webs. When I showed him in the morning he burst into tears and whimpered,’ I didn’t want it like that!!!’

‘Really,son? Well that’s what you’re having!’

To be fair, the cake was distinctly lob sided due to me dropping quite a big chunk of it as I turned it out. Using jam as superglue was never going to work.......

Then on the hottest day of the year so far, the birthday boy insisted on wearing a snugly fitting nylon spiderman outfit complete with gloves and mask – mask! Which he did not take off not even for the party food! Nobody knew where he was or who to give the presents to!

The one year old found the whole thing an opportunity for misdemeanour and adventure, finding places to climb – collaspable tables, kitchen bar stools, present boxes. Chances to escape including the great fun of being chased onto a main road! And finally the opportunity to eat as much sugar filled food as possible from others plates, the floor, the binbags...........

I miscalculated the number of chairs in the scout hut and so half the children had to kneel on a gymnastic bench to reach the spidey cup cakes, chocolate marshmallows, grapes, carrot sticks – (guess what food was left over?!) and when the lob-sided spider man birthday cake was brought out there were no tears or screams or foot stamping or tantruming of any kind. (Maybe with the 40% vision a spidey mask with unusually placed eye holes afforded the whole thing looked better or maybe he was full of good spirit after receiving 30 shiny, multi-coloured, exciting looking parcels!)

Bungling Barry’s noise set the children giggling and shrieking and sent the grandparents fleeing for the garden, the mother in law actually put tissues in her ears!

The magic show was as ever great – even for those of us who saw the same one last year..........

By the end of the two hours of mayhem, all the children seemed happy, clutching a party bag and a balloon sword, flower or dog made by the pretty amazing crowd controller who is Bungling Barry.

The clean up began, thankfully my lovely friends helped to make the scout hut good as new and the ancient scout master – a man who dedicated the last sixty years to Baden Powell locked up happy!

We all slept well that night!