A pox upon your house

Is this the kind of thing you want to see the night before you move?

Do you need a close up?

Yes, those are chicken-poxy looking spots. And no, it's not what I wanted to see either.

Goodbye garderie, hello stranger

Today is the boys' last day at the garderie. I am a bit sad. It may look a bit grey and dull on the outside, but it's not really. I love this place.

I was so apprehensive about putting T-boy there when he was 10 months old, but I quickly lost all my fears about institutionalised care. In fact I lost a whole heap of them the first time I went there to meet the director. It was a stinking hot day, and she greeted us in bare feet. This may be completely normal in Oz, but it seemed a big deal to me over here. I have never seen anyone outside without shoes on. And even inside it's rare. Maybe I am over-symbolising this, but to me it meant the garderie was run by someone who was sensible and practical, who adapted as necessary to different situations, who wasn't overly formal or concerned with procedures.

My confidence grew as I came to know T-boys carers. They have all been fantastic. Warm, kind, and even loving.

They do great things with the kids. Inside of course, there are all sorts of toys and things to jump on and activities. The garderie is at the edge of a huge park, and they often take the kids to the play areas, or just let them run around outside. They also take them further afield on the bus - to other parks, to the pool, to watch the trains at the main station, to the weekly market in town. I so appreciate this effort that they make.

I also appreciate their efforts to help T-boy with his social skills. Not that he has any particularly worrying issues, just the regular ones for a kid his age. But still, his carers make the effort to help him with his personal set of regular kid issues. I know this is standard procedure for childcare these days, but that doesn't mean I take it for granted.

But what I appreciate most of all is their fantastic relationship with T-boy. Not just the carers, the cook and the maintenance guy too.

There's so many examples of this, but us leaving has really highlighted it. All his carers, even from previous years, have commented on how much they have enjoyed working with T-boy - one even told me he had been looking forward to working with him after getting to know him a little bit last year when T-boy was in another room. They have all said he will be missed. They are throwing him a party today. (With chips - T-boy is very excited). And it's not a small garderie with just a few kids.

So I am sad that T-boy is leaving this lovely group of people, as well as his friends there. And that Little-L won't get to experience it.

----------------------------------------------------

The new garderie in the town next to our village is much smaller and not in a park, but I have heard very good things about it. However T-boy and Little-L won't be going there any time soon - there are 50 other kids on the waiting list.

I have thought and thought about what to do - I want to keep working, but I also want my kids to be in good care.

There's a very cheap option where you pay $5 an hour for someone, a maman du jour, to look after your kids at their home. Some people have wonderful things to say about their maman du jour, and maybe if it was just Little-L I'd consider it. But I don't think it would be good for T-boy to be stuck inside someone's home the whole day.

I'd be happy to have a babysitter come to our home, but we haven't found anyone.

So we're pretty much left with an au pair. There's heaps of these looking for work, from all over the world. The cost is pretty similar to the garderie, and there's the added benefit that we could choose someone who speaks English, as this is what we speak as a family.

But although we can give an entire floor up to an au pair, I don't really want someone living with us over the weekend. Especially not someone we've brought over from another country who would be very reliant on us. And all these au pairs stress how they really want to be part of the family. Umm, no.

So then, we looked for local au pairs willing to go home on the weekend. Nada.

Finally, last week we found someone from across the border, who will be our au pair over the summer and who will go home on the weekends.

We've never met her. She arrives at 8am on Monday morning, three days after the move. I'll let you know how it goes!

Paying for him to sleep

Little-L has never been the best sleeper. He's a lot better now, but still, he often has naps that are only 30-45 minutes long.

Unless he's at the garderie. He routinely has 2 and even 3 hour naps there. Twice a day. In a light room. That is not 100% quiet.

I was wondering wtf they put in his milk to make him sleep so well. But last week I figured out what the real secret is.

On Fridays he stays home with me, but T-boy still goes to the garderie. I work while Little-L is sleeping - but 2 x 45min doesn't give me time to do much.

I have quite a lot on at the moment, and what with the move this Friday, I organized a babysitter for last Friday so I could work.

And what did Little-L do? He had a 3 hour morning nap. Instead of his usual 45 min. So the babysitter arrived at the time I had predicted he would wake up... and Little-L kept sleeping. And sleeping. And sleeping.

So clearly, the way to make him sleep is to pay somebody to look after him.

So who's the blonde??

When C and my brother first met, they bonded instantly in a discussion about my various ineptitudes. And wondering how it was that, in my work life, I managed to convince people that I was capable. This wasn't the most pleasant moment of my life, being picked on by both of them at the same time, but hey, at least they were getting along. I guess.

Anyway, whenever I do anything a bit dipsy, C still rolls his eyes and wonders how I manage in life. But the thing is, I AM NOT NEARLY SO BAD ANYMORE. Honestly. But more importantly, he has no right rolling his eyes as HE is now the chief dipstick in the house.

For example, who has left for the airport three times in the past four years without his passport? Not me, HIM. (One time I had to drive to the airport 65km away in 20 minutes to bring it to him; another time he had planned to spend the night with friends 2.5 hours away before catching the plane from their city in the morning... he realised he had no passport just before going to bed and so borrowed their car to drive home to get it, slept for like 2 hours (during which time I woke up to find an unexpected person in bed with me), then drove back to catch the plane; and the third time he was issued an emergency passport at the airport.)

There are many other silly things he has done, but seriously, it really is my turn to roll my eyes bigtime after a phone conversation we had this morning (with me working onsite at an organization today, where I need to be able to use my email via the web):

- Hi sweetheart, have you changed the password for web access to our email accounts lately? Because I can't login.

- No.

- Well I've rung tech support and... (I'll spare you the details of my conversation with tech support and what I tried to do to get a new password, which was then sent to C's mobile phone, but which didn't work when he tried it)

- Hang on, let me try to logging in with the old password. [Says password out loud while typing it in] It works!

- But... but... that's not the password I used.

- Really? Oh...well...yes...maybe I did go through all our passwords and make them have the same style.

- So when I asked you before "Have you changed the password", the answer was actually "yes"??

- Ah ... yes.

Honestly.

überwoman

I have these visions of being some kind of überwoman once we move to the village. I daydream about freshly baked cookies, a beautifully tended flower-filled garden, homemade bread, a spotless Vogue-like house, gourmet meals, endless sunshine.

Ummm... yeah. Because that has always been my dream, to be a 1950s housewife. And I'm so close to being one.

Because, you know, I already manage so well to prepare a wide variety of multi-course home-cooked meals. And our few surviving pot plants look so happy. And we always have everything we need to make cookies, and never have to make an emergency run to the bakery downstairs to buy eggs. Or flour. Or bread for lunch. And it never, ever, takes us three trips to the supermarket to remember everything we need for the weekend. So moving to a village with no shops will not be a problem. And because I'm going to have so much time on my hands once we move, what with a bigger house, a garden, and still working 70%.

The country air is clearly going to need to be very strong if I am to turn into the überwoman in my head. But the thing is, why is she there at all?????

Starting to say goodbye

There are many things I will miss about living in this apartment. Like how we have 2 supermarkets, 2 chemists, and a post office just 1 minute walk away, meaning I don't have to be that organised when it comes to shopping for essential things. Like how everything else I want is also within walking distance. Like how small equals quick to tidy and easy to find misplaced items (a daily activity). Like how I can hear what's going on in the other rooms. Like the view:

And while the apartment is getting a bit cramped, this town is actually great for kids. There's heaps of lovely parks, a free pool just down the hill, the lake a bit further down, and on our way to and from the garderie we routinely see small planes flying low, trains, diggers, assorted trucks, street cleaners, and sometimes even tractors. T-boy is in heaven.

But there are 66 things neither of us will miss:

Move the boxes? Nah, let's just chuck 'em

We're now 10 days from move day, and I would say about three-quarters of our stuff is now in boxes. Maybe even more. And so far I am not missing a single thing. No, that's not true, I'm missing my winter coats since summer decided to disappear last week. But that's all. All that other stuff, well, apparently we don't really need it at all.

In support of this, having so much packed doesn't seem to reduce the frantic tidy-up-the-night-before-the-cleaner-comes one little bit.

Thank you sweetheart

The thing about writing a blog is that it's all about me. What I think, what I want to chat about, me me me. This may give the impression that my life is all about me and my kids and that I am doing it all alone - but, THANK GOD, that's not the case at all.

The other adult in the house does a lot of the worst parts of parenting. He's the one who for the last 3 months has been getting up somewhere between 4 and 5am to give Little-L a bottle, and then sometime between 6 and 7am when Little-L wakes for good. He does this without complaining, so that I can have more sleep. Pretty much every morning.

He's the one who takes care of washing the non-disposable cloths I insist on using to clean the kids' bottoms.

He's the one who at 10pm, goes down four flights of stairs because we've remembered we did a load of the kids' washing earlier in the evening that needs to be hanged out.

He's the one who happily takes over in the evenings when I've had a rough day and need some time to myself. No matter how rough his own day has been.

And, he's a father who makes his kids laugh, who takes them to the park, who plays with them, who throws them in the air ... he's everything a kid could want for a dad.

Thank you for all this sweetheart, and happy (slightly late) Father's Day!

Grace

There have been times when I have really struggled with being a mother. Most of these have passed as I have gotten used to the whole thing and as difficult stages ended. But tantrums and bad behaviour are an ongoing problem for me.

A couple of weeks ago, Téo, Lukan, and I had a horrible afternoon. We had gotten home late for the afternoon nap, and then both boys only slept for a short time. They both woke cranky and then screamed pretty much continuously until they went back to bed for the night.

Lukan I could handle, but Téo was something else. He defied me constantly, did things he knew he shouldn't, and escalated everything into a full-blown tantrum.

For example, I decided to give the boys a bath as this usually does wonders to improve moods. But Téo kept tipping water over Lukan's head, which made Lukan cry. After 2 warnings, I took the cup away from Téo, who screamed and screamed - and I mean piercing, piercing screaming - and then wailed I want the cup back! Otherwise I'm going to open the plug! I just shrugged and got a screaming Lukan dried and dressed, but then when all the water was gone, it was Waaaaaahhhh! All the water is gone! GIVE ME SOME MORE NOWWWWW! I would have laughed if my head wasn't clanging so much from all the screaming.

It was like that the whole afternoon and evening. It wasn't just that he was doing things he shouldn't, he was doing them expressly to annoy me. And like a good robot, I responded as expected to his button pushing. We were caught in a nasty looping program of misbehaviour - time out/toy removal - very loud tantrum that just played over and over and over.

Only it wasn’t a simple repeat. With each loop, my patience decreased and my crankiness increased. So it was more like misbehaviour - time out/toy removal - very loud tantrum - yelling from me, with an increase in volume from both of us with each loop. By the end of the evening I was ready to smack him, I was that cranky and fed up. And thinking that this really wasn't what I had thought having kids would be like.

This was a particularly bad afternoon, the worst ever in fact. Most of the time he's lovely and funny, and if there is a tantrum, it's over quickly.

But even so, too often after a more major incident I have found myself unable or unwilling to give up the fight even once it’s over and I’ve won. I don’t feel like laughing with him afterwards, or I begrudge reading him a book, or worse, I remind him of his earlier bad behaviour.

I don’t think I’m deluding myself to think that “impatient”, “easily annoyed”, “prone to yelling”, “petty” and “seriously considers whacking small children to get her own way” are the kinds of terms you would use to describe me. But this is me at my worst with my son.

I am nearly crying writing this. It is incomprehensible to me, now, how I can behave like this with Téo - my child who I love, a 3 year old for god’s sake who I know disintegrates when tired - but give other people way more leeway for far worse behaviour.

So this is my struggle: how to behave with good grace in the face of tantrums and bad behaviour, no matter how tired or annoyed I am.

I do manage it sometimes. Maybe even mostly, most of the time. But not always. And when I fail, it shakes me. I don’t like myself.

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Since writing this last night, I have thought and thought about whether I really want to post it. And obviously I decided I do. One reason is to show some of my friends here that parenting doesn’t come as easily to me as I think they think. Another is the hope that admitting to my worst will drive me even more to change my behaviour.

The afternoon I described really was a shocker, and hit me at the end of a week where I wasn't sleeping well. But being tired is not a good enough excuse. I need to figure out how to handle being tired better, so that I am not begrudging and petty and snappy if things don't go easily for me. I manage it with everyone else, so surely I can do it with my kids!

My goodness it starts early

Last week while getting T-boy's shoes on to go home from the garderie*:

- Mummy, there's still green cars at McDonald's.
- We can go to McDonald's? Please?
- One day we can go to McDonald's? You promise?

- T-boy, do you even know what McDonald's is?

- No. But we can go there?

* I'm not trying to be wanky by using the French word for daycare, but I never call it "daycare", even in English. It just looked wrong.

* Names have been changed

I may be being a little paranoid, but I've removed the names of three of the principal characters in this blog. And decided to be a bit more circumspect about exactly where we are. Better to be safe than sorry.

Baths are not our forté

My friend, smiling at Little-L: Let me guess, you had something orange for lunch!

Me: Ah, no, actually I think that was from dinner last night.

Real village

We have friends here who moved to a village last year. They have already made enemies with their neighbours over some trees, and need to go to court to settle it.

Another friend in a different village was reprimanded for not dressing her kids in nice enough clothes.

Our solicitor told us the story of a guy who put up a fence 1.1 metres high to separate his garden from his neighbour's. But the contract for the development said that fences could only be 1 metre high. So the neighbour made him pull it out and put in a new one.

In three weeks, we are moving to a village.

When we started telling people here we were going to move to C's village, they would immediately turn to me and say And are you OK with this? Seriously, every single person.

Um, yes? I'm actually looking forward to it?

But I have to admit, after hearing these stories, I'm getting a little apprehensive.

We have to share our garden with whoever buys/rents the other half of the house. We've been optimistic about this, figuring that we are pretty easygoing and so there shouldn't be any problems. But it could be awful!

And then the neighbours in the surrounding houses, well, they're either members of C's family or members of his godfather's family. So a neighbourly row would be kind of a very big deal!

And the house, well it's been a labour of love for C's godfather. He contracted out some of the work, but he's done a lot of it himself. He's restored the 300-year-old walls, fixed the collapsing roof, chosen an interesting architecture, gone to Portugal to choose the floor tiles and kitchen counter tops... there is nothing there that he hasn't thought about. And so even if we would have chosen some things differently had we decided to buy the house earlier, we can't deny or not appreciate the effort that he has made. Which, ah, makes it kind of difficult if we want to change anything!

When I was in Japan, I was driving without a license. I never bothered getting an international license as it never occurred to me I might drive in Japan, and then once I was there and occasionally driving my neighbour's car, it was such an effort to go to the town I needed to go to (2 hours on the bus) that I just never did. I knew the risk I was taking, and I decided I would just deal with the consequences if worst came to the worst.*

Well, word of my license-ness got around, and one day my boss asked me to please get a Japanese license, as his boss had told him he would be in trouble if I did not. And I hated and resented this way of controlling people, of making you do things by threatening someone else. Yes, it's effective, and yes, I went and got my license - how could I let my boss get the rap for my irresponsibility? - but it's just so crappy. I should be the only one responsible for my actions.

This is what I am most apprehensive about, the idea that I will feel unable to do certain things not just because it may lead to direct conflict, but also because I may feel responsible to other people. I'm sure I'm overreacting - I mean, the most controversial thing I plan to do at the moment is plant a tree in the garden. I'm going to have to get used to the idea of being watched and commented on - it is a village after all - but please please please it won't be worse than that!

And, I guess, we do have the consolation that if we hate the people living next door, we can build a fence as high as we like to split the shared garden.

* No lectures please Miksy.

e-village

There's a type of early monkey, a tamarin I think, where the babies climb onto their mother's back as soon as they're born. The species lives in family groups, and as they get older, the babies start climbing all over the entire family, including older siblings, and get carried around by everyone. If a female brought up in isolation in captivity has babies, she freaks out when they climb onto her back and tries to pull them off. She has no idea how to look after her young.

The parallel between our generation and captive female tamarins is pretty clear - and actually they were described in an article making the point that there is no "mothering instinct" that tells us what to do, it's something we need to learn.

Along similar lines, this week I read a book and a blog post that highlighted the new situation we're in now where we no longer have elders to guide us in parenting, because we're far away from our parents and/or have rejected their philosophies.

[An aside: I also read an article a while ago about elephants in Africa... where all the big elephants, the elders, have been killed for their tusks, leaving the young elephants to grow up without any guidance. And the young males are not doing well at all. Without older, calmer males as role models and disciplinarians, they're forming gangs and running wild. So so sad.]

When I thought about the tamarins, our lifestyles, and the lack of elders, I realised I could better articulate an answer to C's puzzlement over why I read blogs.

I agree that elders once held our society together and that we may be missing something by no longer having them or listening to them... but for me anyway, the fact is that this is my culture now. I'll listen to what older people have to say, and am always happy to read the latest scientific findings or an expert's opinion, but I don't feel any obligation to actually do what they say - I'll use my own judgement on that. My friends and brother/sister-in-law are more important to me and I hugely appreciate the practical advice and support I've been given for specific problems.

And I don't want to go back to the time where huge families lived together and the kids were brought up by everyone - I like my privacy and independence too much (although, as I will say in the next post, this may soon be over!).

But what's missing for me is the day to day experience of what being a parent is. Not the big issues that I need help with, but the little stuff - the annoyances, the frustrations, the joys - that make you realise that you're in the same boat as everyone else and are actually doing OK. Maybe I would get this more if I were back in Sydney with all my friends and my brother's family - but maybe not, given that I work 60-80%, and everyone there either works or has other commitments, so I probably wouldn't see them all that much anyway.

When I first heard about blogs I was hugely dismissive. Why on earth would anyone want to read, or even have time to read, the meandering ramblings of other peoples' probably boring lives? But then in 2005 I was quickly going insane from T-boy's tantrums so I googled for advice on how to deal with them, and I stumbled across a couple of mommy blogs. And found a few brilliant writers who summed up motherhood so beautifully and eloquently. And was hooked.

I know there's a lot of articles saying how the internet is ruining traditional social interactions. Maybe so, but in my world of working at home, it fills a huge gap. Taking 5 minutes out of my work to read a blog is a bit like a coffee break... a catchup with someone and the immediate things happening in their life. And, by hearing of other people's experiences and worries, an affirmation that I'm doing OK.

So sweetheart, that's why I read blogs.

Possibly going a bit too far

I watched a lot of TV when I was breastfeeding Little-L. The best thing on BBC Prime (the only non-news English TV channel we have) was David Attenborough's Life of Mammals. Unfortunately Little-L didn't time his feeds well enough for me to see the entire series (although he was kind enough to let me see every single episode of Keeping Up Appearances, TWICE), but I saw one about rats.

I learnt that sewer rats get their food and warmth from people having showers and doing the dishes: warmth from the warm water, and food from the small scraps that go down the sink.

And so, tonight when I broke a glass while washing up, I very carefully picked every bit out of the sink, refusing to let even one sliver to go down the drain. Because I didn't want some poor baby rat getting cut.

Is this for real?

So I'm struggling a bit with finding my voice for this blog.

I like crafting a story - but it's not how I would speak over a cuppa, is it? And even less these days with an interruption every sentence and a half, either from a preschooler with Very Important News, like Mummy! Listen to me! I am a boy! or a baby with something in his mouth that shouldn't be there.

Plus, I'm a little self-conscious that the stories are maybe too neat. Because I do worry about having some kind of ending. And often, the morning after I've posted, I'll go back and edit to make it better.

I also worry that my voice may not be my own - there are other bloggers I admire with distinctive styles, and sometimes when I'm thinking of a story in my head, it sounds like them. This is bad.

And then there's the subject matter. Because so far it's almost all about my kids, and actually, even though I don't always succeed, I do try hard to NOT be someone who only talks about her kids. It's a pity blogs weren't around before I moved here - I had way more entertaining stories before then. (But just to say: a certain fairy godmother over in Texas has specifically asked for T-boy stories here, so if you think there are too many, well, it's her fault.)

And also, whatever I experience has been experienced by far more talented writers than me. I didn't start this blog with dreams of being a great writer, it is really just to keep in touch with people - but still, it makes me self-conscious to read what I have thought, written in a much better way in another blog.

And then there's the audience. I would like to have the courage to tell a wide range of people about the blog, from my close friends to my whole family and even perhaps to friends of my parents. In person, like everyone, I speak differently to different people. Here, I cannot. And I am uncertain of how to balance writing how I want about what I want, without ever offending anyone.

Maybe the best thing to do is apologise here in advance if you are ever offended by my opinion, subject matter, boringness, or vocabulary. And then just get on with it.

What goes around...

Every evening
T-boy:
- Mummy, I can watch television tonight?
- Yes, after Little-L has finished his dinner I can have television. I promise.
- Mummy I'm hungry.
- Can I have something to eat while I wait?
- Two Baby Bels, not one. Two, OK?
- Two, like dat. (holds up two fingers)
- Two. (repeats until Baby Bels are out of the fridge)

- Mummy may I watch television?
- I want to watch le Jungle Book, OK? Yes?
- Le Jungle Book, OK?
- But not Sher Khan. I'm scared of Sher Khan.
- You skip Sher Khan, OK?
- Can I watch television now? (x10)
- Little-L has finished his dinner? That means I can watch television! (repeats Jungle Book speil until the DVD starts)

- Mummy, I can have melon for dessert? (said after first mouthful of dinner, repeats after every mouthful)
- I'm finished! You get melon now.
- May I have some melon please?
- Mummy, please may I have some melon?
- Now? Please? Melon?
- I want some melon!

Me:
- T-boy! I am cutting up the melon! I am going as fast as humanly possible! Stop nagging me!

Every morning
Me/C:
- T-boy, take off your pyjamas please (x7)
- T-boy, stop playing and take off your pyjamas! Now!
- OK, good, now put on your underpants.
- T-boy, put on your underpants on please (x10).
- T-boy, stop mucking around, and put on your underpants!
- Now put on your trousers.
- T-boy, stop playing and put on your trousers (x10)
- Trousers! On! Now!
- OK now choose a top and put it on.
- Socks, now put your socks on (x5)
- And now your shoes.
- Shoes, T-boy.
- T-boy, put on your shoes please (x7).
- T-boy we need to go now, so stop mucking around and put on your shoes!

And then, this morning, for the first time:

T-boy:
- I'm going as fast as I can! Stop nagging me!

And now for something lighter...

Cherish this time, they're little for such a short while. I heard this a lot when T-boy and Little-L were first born. Huh. Well I'm glad they're over it. And not just because all those pesky newborn habits - like waking all night long, screaming for no apparent reason, not being able to sleep unless strapped to a parent, needing constant and sometimes painful feeding - are behind us. Nope, a big reason I'm glad the newborn stage is over is because we're finally free of baby outfits.

Don't get me wrong, baby outfits are very cute, and I have loved the little matching sets we've had. But the thing is, both halves are rarely clean at the same time. There's always a spew or an overflowing poo that puts one half in the wash... and then you have to pair what's left up with something else.

And guess what? The something else never matches. Not only will the colours be not quite right, but the animal will ALWAYS be wrong. I don't know why it is that baby outfits have to have an animal somewhere, but I do know that it bugs me hugely to have mismatched animals. Like a teddy bear top, and puppy dog bottoms. It's not even just that the two animals are different: their style is always different too. So the teddy bear will be a printed line drawing, but the puppy dog will be cartoon style, and embroidered. I'm tense just thinking about it.

It's actually worse because you have to factor in the bodysuit and the socks and the shoes as well, because of course these all have animals too. So you can have a monkey bodysuit, teddy bear top, puppy dog bottoms, frog socks, and lion shoes. Oh, and the jacket - that has a chicken on it. AAGGGGHHHHHHHH!!! I hated, hated, hated seeing such combinations together. But since almost every piece of clothing had an animal on it, it was often like this.

I didn't take any photos of the worst examples, but here's one that, even though it's not so bad, still irks me. That little elephant on the pants is cute, yes, but it screams out I AM PART OF A SET! A BROKEN SET! And what you can't see are the dinosaurs on the shoes - also cute, but so so wrong with the elephant.



Now, thank goodness, the pants no longer have animals on them. And it's warm enough that Little-L doesn't need shoes, or even a jacket. So I can take whatever T-shirt is at the top of the pile and, no matter what the design, not have to think but what will he wear with it? Because honestly, I have enough of that each morning with my own wardrobe.

I need to say thank you

Téo has fallen into water a few times. The last time really freaked me out: when I saw him under the water I realised with a horrible shock that I wasn't sure I could have resuscitated him if it had been necessary.*

So yesterday I did a first aid course for parents. And it was good, and I feel a bit more confident now. But that is not where I'm going here.

The doctor giving the course mentioned that giving mouth-to-mouth is exhausting. He was young and fit, and said he'd once done it for 14 minutes until the ambulance arrived - and it was one of the hardest physical things he's ever done.

Then he mentioned that a successful heart massage will most likely result in broken ribs and major tissue damage - that's how hard you have to push on the person's chest.

Then he mentioned that giving someone mouth-to-mouth is not easy from a psychological point of view: it's a very intimate thing to do, plus there could be blood and/or vomit, and it's not like it's ever going to be a calm situation. A friend of his gave mouth-to-mouth to a guy injured in a car accident, who didn't survive. The doctor's friend was severely traumatised by the experience, and could not eat meat afterwards because it tasted like the dead guy's blood in his mouth.

And at that moment, I was hit by what an incredible effort was made to try and revive my dad. I don't remember the full details, but there were some nurses on the trip, and they tried to revive him for something like 40 minutes before they gave up. I assume that means they gave him heart massage and mouth-to-mouth for 40 minutes.

When I first heard this, not long after he had died, my reaction was like, wow, that's a long time, I'm pretty sure I would have given up before then.

But sitting in the room yesterday, for the first time I thought about what it must have been like for those people. How much physical effort they put in, as well as psychological effort, for someone they had only known for a few days. The realisation was humbling, to say the least.

So I'm going to try and find their names and addresses, and then I will write to say thank you. And that I'm sorry it's taken me 4 years to do so.

* Just to reassure you: we were right by Téo when he slipped through his swim ring, so although we didn't actually see him go under, he wasn't in real danger of drowning. But even so, it was still very frightening to see him struggling just under the surface. And also to realise that it can happen so quickly, and so silently, even when you are right there. He will be having swimming lessons this summer.