It can’t just be my boys. Please don’t just be my boys.
Hitting, shoving, kicking each other… for fun? As a woman I try to think back to my friendships and I don’t recall a single moment where I lunged at a little friend in the middle of tea cups and wrestled her to the ground laughing.
Well, I finally did it. When I first decided to start writing this blog, I set myself a goal to write an article every week, for one entire year. It’s not always been easy, or convenient. I’ve often struggled for ideas, energy and time. But here it is- one year of articles. Done.
There’s a song John Lennon wrote for his son called ‘Beautiful Boy’. I often play it for the boys during our morning ‘play-list’ (featuring an almost exclusive selection of 70s and 80s hits for their auditory pleasure)…
Of all the things that kids do, this has got to be one of the things that annoys me the most: name calling. In all honesty, I would prefer that they gave each other a shove than called each other a derogatory name. No, I'm not about to start high-fiving my child for kicking his brother in the shin, but still. Name calling sucks.
Little lesson learnt today... in an effort to start imparting my kids with some intellectual curiosity (only two of them like to read and I'm worried the other two may end up with the vocabulary of a plant), I decided that I would start reading to them again every evening.
It seems impossible, but just like that… it’s the end of the year again. I'm sitting in amassage chair, with my feet soaking in a foot spa waiting for a pedicure; contemplating life. It’s just what you do at this time of the year. You think about the year gone by, and start dreaming about the year ahead.
Have yourself a Merry little Christmas. It seems like such an innocuous request, and yet for many, it may not be as simple as that.
It’s December and the thing I’ve done at the end of every year with my children since they were little, is head up to our northern beaches for a week. There’s a particular spot right on the water in Noosa that is a true slice of paradise. We swim right off the jetty, take boats up the river, watch sunsets, build sand castles and fish. Well, we try to fish.
There are many things that little boys are good at. They’re good at making friends and making noise. They’re great at picking noses, scabs and fights…. But the thing they tend to do best, is GROW.
It was the end of a big week and I thought the boys and I deserved a nice dinner out to celebrate. And also there was no food in the house.
If you search in the dictionary for the technical definition of the word ‘relationship’ you'll find:
Relationship [ri-ley-shuh n-ship]
The way in which two or more people or things are connected, or the state of being connected.
Every now and again, something beautiful just catches your breath.
It’s Sunday evening; the kids and I were all on the lounge room floor labelling books for the start of the school year tomorrow. In the background I was playing some of my classical favourites. I love all types of music, and my long suffering neighbours can probably verify that the boys are exposed to everything from Broadway musicals to 90s grunge, to the great rock gods of the 70s and hipster acoustics remakes of everything in between.
I have been away from my children these last few weeks and I would have thought I’d have very little to write about in the way of parenting this month- if it wasn’t for something my eldest son said yesterday over the phone that very much surprised me.
It’s unavoidable. Sometimes you just have to be the bad guy.
It was one such night and I had sent my second son off to his room with some rather firm words and instructions to ‘think about it’. By the time I walked in to say goodnight to him, it was clear that he had done exactly that- but in all the wrong ways.
I always like discovering new words, and this week I found one which has helped me understand my sons a whole lot better. It’s called Adrenarche. It’s rather appropriate that it kind of sounds a bit like ‘anarchy', because that’s what led me to go looking for it.
Fatherhood. What do I know about it? I’m a mother. And just because I’m a single mother, doesn't mean that I know anything about being a father, or that I DO the role of a father. I do the role of a single mother. That’s what I am. And I’m so proud of it, that I don’t need to claim recognition on someone else's day.
Tears. They feature in every childhood. Some kids are tantrum throwers. Others are snifflers. There are wailers and gagers, as well as specialist breath-holders.
knew something wasn't quite right. Despite being completely dedicated, my third son was having a serious struggle learning to read. It didn’t seem to matter how hard he tried, or how much we helped him- words on a page remained a puzzle.
There are many things that come with parenthood. Lack of sleep, lack of privacy, lack of money, lack of time and lack of energy. And yet in exchange for all that is taken, parenthood rewards us with an impossible amount in return. A kind of crazy love that chokes you up, and leaves you wondering how such a noisy and gross little person could fill you up with so much joy.
When you’re a writer you’re not supposed to be lost for words.
I’ve been away for a week- and it occurred to me a few days ago, that in being away from my children, I may not have anything to write about. What could I teach them, if I'm not even there?
A very important lesson- as it turns out.
