Leaf dance

The other day, coming home from the shops, I walked quickly from the garage to the house, to get out of the cold wind as soon as possible.

Lukan dawdled behind me.

After a couple of minutes, when he hadn't appeared, I went back outside, and found him standing entranced in the driveway.

Did you see? he said excitedly, pointing to the masses of swirling leaves.

Like this! And he twirled around and around, showing me how they were dancing.

Knives and priorities

One night last week while getting the kids ready for bed, I wasn't very patient. They were mucking around, C wasn't home, the dishes still needed to be done, the washing needed hanging, I was tired, I was stressed by a looming work deadline, I knew I'd have to work all weekend, I wanted a bit of time to unwind and escape before having to go to bed and then get up and repeat everything the next day.

The upshot was that when I said for the sixth time, Téo put your pyjamas on NOW and added, or there will be no book tonight, well, I didn't say it very nicely.

Téo looked at me and said You know mummy, when I dream at night you are always only mean to me.

That would be the knife reference in the title of this post.

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I've taken on way too much work this year.

At first, it was because of the recession. I wasn't sure I would even have any work in the second half of the year when new, possibly drastically reduced budgets came into effect, so I took on pretty much everything that was offered. The result: long hours.

My fears about reduced budgets did not come true - I've been offered even more work in the second half of the year. And from new clients too, including a big one, that I felt it would be unwise to refuse.

So I accepted up to the very limit of what I could do... without realising until too late that Téo's school schedule would be very disruptive. And forgetting that projects always take longer than planned. So, more long hours.

All up, I have worked 49% more hours this year than last year. And the year's not even over yet.

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Clearly, these extra hours have to come from somewhere. And without fail, it's been from time with the kids. Instead of working 4 days as planned, I have worked 5 for pretty much the entire year. Instead of finishing at 4pm, I've been finishing at 5pm. And lately, I've worked weekends too.

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I want to work, I like to work. I like having the money, I like the recognition, I like doing something I'm good at, I don't want to step out of the workforce and find myself unable to get back in, should I really need to.

But I also want to be there for my kids. That is, after all, the whole reason I decided to work from home in the first place, and not work full-time.

I'm not balancing this at all well. And I'm wondering - why do I always seem to choose work over time with my children?

Even last Wednesday - which should be my day off, when for once I only worked in the morning and not all day - I couldn't even sit down for 10 minutes with Téo, who wanted to do a jigsaw puzzle. All I could see was washing to fold, a floor to vacuum, dinner to start.

- OK, I'll fold the clothes while you do it.

- No, do it with me!

-No, I can't, I need to fold the clothes, but I'll do it right next to you!

It took an attention-seeking tantrum from Lukan for me to finally get out of seeing, thinking, being work and instead sit on the floor and just play.

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I've resolved before to be better. But I really need to. I'm going to.

Because it's not just time together that's suffering, it's also my attention, my attitude. A stressed Emma is not very playful, or patient.

The kids forgive me now, but how long will it be before they resent my choices? How long until they only remember a mean, snappy mummy? Until they start to think I actually prefer work to them?

How long will it be until I can no longer forgive myself?

Divining marshmallows

So there's this test, the marshmallow test, where you give a kid a marshmallow, tell him/her that you're going to leave the room, and that s/he can eat the marshmallow now, but if s/he waits until you get back then s/he can have another one too. And then you leave.

I've never been tempted to try this on Téo. I don't want to know now that he's going to end up a badly adjusted instant-gratification junkie with a major impulse control disorder.

Because I'm sure as hell that marshmallow would be down his gullet before the door was even closed. Before I'd even left the room.

We've had a few cases of him sneaking sweet things over the past year. Like meringues from the cupboard. One time he continued to eat lollies from a birthday lolly bag, after I'd said he had had enough for the day - and lied about it when confronted. Lied while still chewing the lollies.

I threw the rest away as punishment.

The lesson did not sink in.

Last weekend, after going trick or treating, the deal was that he could have some lollies after everyone had finished dinner.

He finished first (probably so he could have the lollies quicker), and left the table to play while everyone else finished. You know what happened next. Right down to lying with the lollies still in his mouth.

He was denied any more lollies for the whole weekend.

Apparently this was still not enough.

This week I had this great idea for his reading, to make a treasure hunt where he has to read each clue. He LOVES it. I was very pleased with myself.

The treasure is a lolly, and there's one for Lukan too.

You know where this is going too.

No impulse control whatsoever.

He's doomed.

But then... the other night, at 10pm, C interrupted my escape to Hogwarts to desperately ask me where the bag of un-handed-out Halloween lollies was. He left the room very sadly when he realised that yes, he had in fact already eaten every lolly in the house.

And then I remembered that he has eaten lollies that he knew were promised to Téo.

And that he even rescued the lollies I threw away as punishment, and ate them.

And that my dad could not leave an open bag of chocolates unfinished.

And that Dad also ate chocolate that was mine - my entire ration for a week-long hike, 2 days into the hike, after he'd finished his.

And I confess (Mum, don't read the rest of this sentence) even I, as a kid, stole milk money to buy lollies.

C and I seem to doing be OK, and Dad could hardly be described as a failure.

So maybe Téo's not so doomed. But clearly, any sugar entering our house is.

If you want a smile, have a look at these kids trying not to eat the marshmallow...

Bleh

Yes I know, I've been a bit absent. Sorry.

I've had a post drifting around my head these past couple of weeks, something about how I am not managing that whole life-work balance thing very well, but even not fully coalesced it didn't seem to be going anywhere other than a big boring whinge.

My current work project is stressing me, I've been sick since my birthday, I'm tired all the time, I don't have time to do lots of things I'd like to do, my kids never listen to me the first time I say something, my husband isn't always home, household chores are tedious, oh woe is me.

Really, you should be thanking me for not writing a longer version of all that.

So anyway, I'm coming out of the funk but am still not very inspired and so escaping into books every evening rather than, you know, actually doing any of those things I'd like to do when the kids are in bed and my husband's not here.

I'm off to Hogwarts ... hope to have something to say soon.

Five

There he is, my lanky boy, running ahead, riding his bike, riding his scooter, walking up a mountain.

There he is again, cornering some poor adult, happily chatting about anything, nothing, everything.

Now he's helping me to cook, helping with the shopping, setting the table, clearing away his plate.

Or helping Lukan to take off his jacket or shoes, to find a toy, to make something work.

Suddenly he bursts into song, something he's learnt at school or his music class.

Then he's playing a game, properly, one with rules and winners and losers.

And in between all this, he still asks for hugs, comes into bed for a morning cuddle, holds my hand, races to me when he gets out of school (although a good-bye kiss when I drop him off is getting rarer...). He still thinks I know everything, still wants to tell me things. Same with his papa.

He's delighted to see all his extended family.

He's delighted to spend time with our friends.

I have a feeling that five is going to be the best year ever.

Except, he could quit pretending to fart on us. And really farting on us.

Please.

Observations from yesterday

At a workshop, where the participants are likely to want to talk to one another over lunch, spaghetti is a bit of a cruel choice for the caterers to have made.

Wearing a G string back-to-front is quite unpleasant.

Having an ear infection is worse.

On the right track

So there's a lot of articles and blogs out there giving an opinion on how to raise children. Never punish, never reward, because it teaches them you only love them when they're good. Encourage extensive role play as it's the only way to teach them to control their impulses. Practise benign neglect so that they learn to do things by themselves. Let them be free-range. Be a good enough parent, not a perfect one.

It's hardly surprising then that my parenting is a bit of a hodgepodge, a blending of ideas from different sources that fit into my general take on parenting. A take that, I admit, leans heavily towards what fits with my own personality and experiences, and a whole lot less heavily on sifting through the evidence for or against certain actions. A take that can also sometimes be a little contradictory in the details. Or change depending on my mood. Ahem.

So anyway, mostly I'm OK with this, but sometimes I wonder whether I'm doing the right thing, whether the haphazard path I'm dragging my children down will lead to where I want them to be: responsible, self-sufficient, realistic, thoughtful, able to speak up but also to listen, able to think critically and not just follow the crowd.

And every now and again, when someone describes something parents most definitely should not do in order to have children like this, and it's something I do do, well, I have a moment of worry.

Yesterday I read an article that got me wondering. And perhaps worrying. Do I coddle my kids too much?

You see, I have read several books that say you shouldn't deny what a kid is feeling, which makes sense to me. So, for example, I have always let my boys cry as long and as loudly as they want when they are hurt. I don't encourage the crying, but neither do I shush it. But my parents were more like the this author's parents - not as extreme, but definitely not pandering to minor scrapes, discomforts, or illnesses. And she went the other way with her own kids, and ended up regretting it.

So should I be harder on my kids? Because actually, like this author, I do think that having to tough things out as a kid made me stronger, made me better able to accept discomfort and nuisances as an adult. Made me aware that life is not always fair, or easy, and that I couldn't just expect to always get what I wanted.

And then I started thinking of Téo's reading lessons, which I am letting him do at his own slow pace. Am I giving him too much freedom here? Should I force him a bit more? Because even though I hated it at the time, I am now infinitely grateful that my father was so hard on my writing. He set me up for life. And his praise when I did write well - I don't remember thinking that he only loved me because I had done what he wanted, I remember feeling good about myself. It's not really wrong to praise is it? To expect certain things of our children and acknowledge it when they do them?

Worry worry worry.

Then this morning, Lukan was mucking up over breakfast. The New Regime means a zero-tolerance policy - either he eats when Téo and I eat, or he misses breakfast.

He missed breakfast.

There was much wailing.

As I put on his shoes, I explained (again) that if he didn't eat when we did, he wouldn't eat at all. That I was sorry he missed breakfast ... and then before I could say but tomorrow you can, Téo piped in with:

But that's life.

I guess that at least answers my worries about coddling.