Heal the World

Heal the World

I looked at the 5 year olds class blog last night, the newest piece on there is a celebration of ‘Black History Month.’ They had been talking about Martin Luther King and the teacher had put together their comments on dreams for a fairer world next to a picture of each child sat on a rug with a globe pattern with children holding hands around the edge of the world, to the sickly music of Michael Jackson instructing us all to Heal the world. Next to my speech and language impaired 5 year old she had written, ‘for everybody to be treated the same’

‘Mmm’ I thought, ‘just doesn’t sound like something he would say....’

So, I asked him what he’d said and he told me that he said,

‘It doesn’t matter if you are a boy or a girl because it’s the same’ he knew exactly what he had said, I asked him later and he said the same thing. Not very eloquent I grant you but heartfelt (if slightly ‘off message’ for black history week!)

I was then in a bit of a quandary – though delighted that my feminist teachings had got through the number of times I’ve told him pink is for everyone who likes it, boy’s can play with dolls and Daddy can take his turn changing his brothers nappy the same as me.

Do I point out the friends we have who are black or Asian to make him aware (remember he’s not the observant kid in the world!) or will that forever point them out as someone ‘different’? We live in a multi-racial city he has to notice doesn’t he?

It was only when I became a grown up that I realised the probable heritage of some of my friends,  Joseph Gallegan, Sara Begum, Osama Ahmed, Francesca Brunelli......

He obviously gets his observation skills from me.......

So we began this rather clumsy conversation – the five year old clearly told us that black and white people are goodies (I told him some are baddies too, but you can’t tell by looking at their skin...) He at least got Martha Jones and Amy Pond as  goodies and I could confirm indeed Martha Jones and Amy Pond are goodies.

He looked at me with puzzlement when I asked him which of our friends are black? O.k. brown I said? And despite the photos on the back of his bedroom door he didn’t really understand. I didn’t really push it. Should I? I don’t know what to say....

Later my partner told me they’d seen someone from cbeebies in the park again much to the two year olds delight!

‘Ooh’ I say, a little stage struck, ‘Who?’

‘The blonde one’ he said.

‘Do you mean the woman with one arm?’ I say

‘Yes’ he says.

Now I know she does not always want to be known as the woman with one arm but there are more blondes in the world than people with one arm and it’s just a physical description isn’t it?

Night Time Terrors!

Night Time Terrors!

As I write I’m sitting in the gloom of the morning in the sitting room alone after an eventful night.

My partner and I shuffled off to bed early after head bobbing on the sofa for a while. Within a couple and mid the deepest sleep cycle in came the five year old, snuggling his hot little body next to mine, wriggling and writhing and obviously desperate for a wee! Sleepily and gluey eyed I walked him to the bathroom, him moaning and eyes shut. He managed to go with only minimal seat splashing then back to bed for us both.

Then at 5a.m. the unmistakably sharp chirrup of the smoke alarm running out of battery.........

I woke my partner who amazingly seemed to be sleeping through it.  Last time this happened he used a broom to knock off the smoke alarm in rather a temper, ripping it from the ceiling and as the smoke alarm system is wired in resulting in more noise foiled eventually by a trip to cellar and fuse removal then some tricky repair work the next week through ‘Danger nuclear material contained ’ warnings on the plastic casing he had smashed at!

Amazingly he was in a better mood than anticipated and rather purposefully got on with it with only a small amount of huffing and puffing as he dragged the step ladders from the cellar and up to our room. Maybe he’d learnt a lesson from last time and with the big light on and my head under the duvet he replaced the ‘damn’ battery!

5.40a.m. and we’d managed to get back to sleep despite my partners initial fear he would be unable to sleep again as he was so wide awake.

We were sharply woken by an angry little boy cry and my partner went to get the two year old before he woke the street and more importantly the five year old! He continued to scream and would not be comforted, writhing around on the bed and floor, kicking arms and legs with the occasional head butt thrown in for good luck.

‘Calpol, calpol!!!’ I screeched as my partner filled the syringe and held the flaying toddler down. Still screams.

‘Bonnnnnjelllllaaaaa!’

Bonjella applied and all calmed a little, well no more screaming anyway.

My partner de-camped to the spare room and I tried to get the two year old to snuggle, but the little biffer only threw himself around the bed angrily crashing all the hard parts of his body against all the hard parts of my body, climbing over me, feet in my face, pulling off my covers and noisily, pulling off my covers and noisily snuffling, dribbling and blocked nose breathing.....

My mind began to fill up and I made shopping lists, half term plans and worried about paying the car insurance and changing that bank account.

Finally, I heard the gentle snoring of the little one, and got a final punch in the face. I checked the clock, 6.flippin’ 59 and absolutely no way this full head was going to get back to sleep.

Earlier in the week a pupil in my class had said, ‘Rough night Miss?!’ when I’d forgotten towear my touché éclat....

‘Not really’ I said, ‘Just normal!’

So cool, I'm out in the Cold

Since reaching 40 (if not before) I am no longer particularly bothered about what people think of me. The feeling of embarrassment felt in front of people you don’t care about or will never see again has been christened, ‘Reading Festival Syndrome’ in my circle of friends...... after my very good friend who literally wanted the ground to swallow her up because we got a taxi from Reading station to the festival – we had crates of beer and there was no way we could carry enough to drink- I waved at all the other crusties as we drove past, she covered her face with her bowling ball bag.

My ten year old nephew who is reaching the peak of self consciousness was in the bath this week when the phone went,

‘If it’s for me’ he quickly and nervously shouted, ‘Say I’m in the shower!’

Apparently baths are for babies and old ladies – making me, in the words of Marge Simpson , ‘So square I’m cool!’

A shower says dynamic, zingy and modern! Who wouldn’t want that! Of course when I was his age a shower in our house meant attaching a rubber tube to the bath taps and hold the spluttering spout, water dribbling from the tap / rubber tube  connection over your head.

The shower I have now in my grown up life is I’m afraid not much better, as any of my poor friends who have had the pleasure of a night chez Rankine will confirm.  It is situated over the bath and dribbles out of an over large head that doesn’t quite balance – if you touch it, breathe near it or look at it funny it collapses into the bath spraying water all over the tiny bathroom.

I digress, tonight my next door neighbour called around to ask for £5 for the neighbourhood planting day on Saturday – the what?!

I had noticed that around the tree lined road I live on, people had planted bulbs, flowers and fancy grasses, ‘How lovely!’ I thought.

Apparently they’ve been getting together for about three years , twice a year to do this, followed by a party in Brenda and Gordon’s house / garden. Who? Oh yes. Brenda and Gordon who live opposite whose windows look into our windows...... and who have never spoken to me!

Not sure If my next door neighbour knocked by mistake or if I’ve finally been deemed ‘in’ she said something about me probably being away last time they did, which is doubtful and sounded a little like back tracking...........

I can’t be the neighbour they all hate, I put my bins away, park well enough and don’t block drives, I’m not too noisy though the kids do often cry in the night and I never have loud, late parties.......

I even send Christmas cards......

Maybe I’m on the list this year!

Busy!

Busy, busy....

So I’ve just started working full time – the kids are well looked after by Daddy who is improving every day...... but he’s not me! And I have to let that be ok, and agree to him feeding them noodles for tea every night, forgetting Jeans for Genes Day at school and sending the little one to nursery in wellies but no socks (ouch little blister!) and so on.

Don’t get me wrong when I was looking after them I spent a day in the science museum without spare nappies, (huge ballooning pants from the little one – quite a snotty refusal to lend a nappy from the self satisfied super mum I bumped into in the baby change), accidently smacked the eldest’s  head against the sink (....on Christmas Day resulting in a quick trip to A and E) and fed them chocolate to keep them quiet on shopping trips.....

Well, nobody’s perfect!

I struggle with space in my head, I can’t stop thinking about their homework or speech therapists appointment or toys or signing up for music lessons and now competing with that is all the work stuff, which never ever goes away or can never ever be finished........

Suffice to say I have a very busy head.

So when I got a text from another mum I hadn’t seen for a while saying she was meeting up for dinner with some friends and was I free, despite feeling shattered I texted, ‘yes’!

I’d had a long, long day at work and the weather was very Manchester, drizzle, dark and cold. It took a surprising amount of effort to run a bath, wash and paint my face.

‘New to me frock’ and purple tights on and off I went – hat on head to defend from the now blustering storm brewing.  On arrival at the restaurant I was surprised how empty the place....... quite clear enough view to notice there was no one in there I knew.

I hurried outside, to give them a quick call – under the rain battered sun canopy – they must be in another pub.

 No answer.

I double checked the text from earlier and .....................

Wrong day.

She was asking me to meet the next day......

Texts don’t really contain enough information to warrant a skim–read, but when your head is so busy, false economy with time eh?

I went home, took off the glad rags and had an early night...

Toddler Turns Two!

So the toddler is now two – he had his big boy birthday last week. Will I convince my partner now is a good time to try for another.....? (No! He screams at me! Never again!)

The night before his birthday, after a week of late nights and early mornings my very tired fella, put the kids to bed with stories from Winnie the Witch. He yawned down stairs and began to put together the birthday present – a balance bike. Lamps off, big light on, tool box from the cellar, instruction booklet open and down to business.

Then as I filled the dishwasher, an abrupt outburst of profanities..........

The screws were not in the box – we’d had the bike for over a week but we hadn’t checked, we hadn’t made it up and now the toddler would be bikeless on his birthday.

My suggestion of ‘Check the box again!’ – a few times was greeted with the irritation  you’d expect, as was my, ‘Have you checked the envelope?’ idea.

Through tired eyes he emailed a rather choice note to Amazon, including an emotive image of the two year olds disappointment for the morning.

And send.

Then of course he found the screws, already in the right holes........

Sheepishly he told me the mistake was made because of the wording / diagram in the instruction booklet.

‘You better email Amazon’ I said but it just hung there in the air.

The bike was made and seemed giant sized compared to the little legs of my baby.

The next day in brilliant sunshine, the toddler scowled at the bike, tried to get his legs on the bike, wobbled a bit, fell and gave up for now, he looked longingly at the bike, from a distance but when he got close he frowned and ran off, all ideas of fast movement foiled!–  (all was saved the weekend after when his big friend gave him a little scooter he’d grown out of ).

A lovely little picnic party after work and school, all the family eating veggie jelly and balloon cake in the speckled Autumn light.

Then an email check and those efficient people at Amazon had already sent out a new bike and their sincere apologies.

Doh! Another day waiting in for the delivery and then another trip to the blasted post office to return it, after a shamefaced email explaining the mistake. Everything taking ten times as long as it should!

Blame it on the tiredness.

Blame it on the kids.

Blame it on......... general incompetence!!!