Parenting – Page 7 – broke-single-dad

February 17, 2018

All prayers answered?

A lesson in delayed gratification

One thing I wish my parents had spent more time on with me was money management and economics. Things may well be different now. Don’t get me wrong and, as I have explained before, I’m not destitute, just careful, having had my fingers burnt.

I don’t want either of mine to struggle in adulthood (what parent does?) so I see it as a priority to prepare them for the fiscal demands of the world.

At the end of these school holidays, we’ve had an action packed week that has left us all tired. We’ve also depleted most of the essential groceries and she has asked for some modelling clay, so off to the shops we go. While we’re in there she spots a must have toy cat, that now has her attention. She asks for it, but it’s slightly more expensive than the clay I’ve found.

Hearing the answer no, she breaks down.

We finish the shop with her in tears and I miss most of what I came for, as I’m tired.

In the car, I tell her that if she cleans her room, and helps her brother clean his, I will give her some pocket-money.

Back at the den, she sets about the task. I’m doing the weekly clean too and they’re pretty used to the routine.

As I pop outside to the bin, I almost step on a tightly folded piece of paper, secured with a bright orange loom band. I take inside and unravel it. It’s a handwritten note;

“Dear God; would you please can you get me the toy cat. Signed ———- Amen”

As a relaxed Christian, I’m touched by this and put the note in a safe place for prosperity and to protect her innocence. As I go back upstairs, she runs into my room.

“Daddy, daddy! while cleaning my room I found exactly £3! it’s enough to buy the cat!”

That’s fantastic darling! It’s like your prayers have been answered!

She stares at me..

“How did you….never mind”

This got me thinking. However it had happened, her prayers had been answered. This is now an interesting premise. I’d made her a deal in which she would trade her labour for financial reward – that’ll sound familiar to us all.

I’d also resisted the temptation to just buy it for her, especially when she broke down in tears, but in my eyes that would be wholly wrong. Ok; she’s only 7, but when is a good time to learn about delayed gratification?

The lessons she learns now will stick with her for life. Effort and reward; what drives us to push ourselves to achieve our goals in life. If it’s handed to us, we’ll eventually come to expect it. Hello dependency.

I reassure myself that this act is neither small nor petty. By the time she recognises the value of the lesson, it’ll be second nature.

As it transpired, the cat was £5, so our second trip to the shop also ended in tears. Luckily, the clean-up offer still stands.

Looks like the Lord doesn’t believe in a free lunch either.

BSD

February 14, 2018February 14, 2018

Can you dig it? yes you can!

Day two of half term, and I’ve got this covered.

Proper planning has led me to have most of this holiday covered. As I’ve stated before (probably to myself to be fair) proper planning prevents poor performance. Anyway, last week I found out that our local museum was hosting a fossil event, where for a small fee participants could engage in some palaeontology.

Right up my daughter’s street and my son is happy to play along too.

Being a proper planner, I allow an hour for us to get there. It’s a 5 minute drive so we’re stupidly early; oh well.

A quick wander around in the bleak mid-winter to find a cash-point sees us pretty happy to be back indoors and wandering around the museum. 30 minutes to go. You enter the museum through the gift shop; nice one folks; I see what you did there.

As we queue, my youngest slowly rotates, next to a display of plates and glass ornaments. I put a stop to that.

There’s a guy upstairs sitting behind a table of fossils so we stop for a chat.

He’s fascinating and has a real enthusiasm for what he’s doing. She’s enthralled. He eyes the gentleman up suspiciously, as only my boy cub can, and keeps his distance.

We’re reliably informed that there are more goodies downstairs, so we head for adventure, headlong into a cafe.

Nice going museum; I see what you did there. The fatal attraction of a fridge full of cakes draws them both in and they turn to look at me.

What came over me?

Not sure what I was thinking, I let them choose whatever they want. She goes for a modest slice of cheesecake whilst he opts for a slice of chocolate cake. Not like the one above; oh no. there was no strawberry on his choice. Instead, the chocolate cake he chose was bedecked with sugar-coated sweets; the kind I bought for a penny in my childhood. It was almost as if the creator wasn’t satisfied with the sugar content of the plain chocolate cake, then decided to push the tooth rotting factor up to 11.

I bought it anyway as we had 20 minutes to kill.

I decided to share the cake with him, convinced that he would struggle with the volume and richness. I underestimated him. I think I had one or two forkfuls, but tired of the battle to wrestle it away from him after the second attempt.

To his credit, he managed to funnel about 90% into his head with 5% spread around his face. The other 5% appears later.

And we’re in!

I hadn’t imagined quite how popular the event would be. One minute we were alone, the next we were awash with parents and children. It was nice to see so many people out and about and the collective excitement level was contagious.

There were four stations for enquiring minds to visit; an expert, a mask making station, a microscope bench and a simulated dig. I thought the latter looked like two cat litter trays but I kept that to myself.

They were straight in; the added bonus being that they could keep one of the fossils that they found. Four fossils each later (in quite a short time) we discussed the lesson of sharing and leaving some for others whilst reburying their three least favourite.

Advancing to the bench of microscopes for a close up of some minerals we queued behind a three deep moving mass of buggies and bodies. This was very popular, but not with us. As she has three microscopes at home, we decided to show our fossils to the expert upstairs and create some masks.

Home run

He was busy. I really underestimated this. No matter; we went to the masks. One Triceratops (her) and a T-rex (him).

With crayon, felt-tip, marker pen and glue stick it took an absolute age for them to colour in their choices. For reasons known only to her, she decided to use the finest tipped pen to embolden her creation. He was a bit more pragmatic and broad-stroked a fisted crayon across his picture. Not surprisingly he was finished in no time. She slumped further in her chair when I told her that she would have to do the other side too.

Staples, glue, elastic and a healthy dose of imagination later and the cubs were transformed into whatever dinosaur young are called. Happy.

Unnoticed, we’ve spent two hours here. It’s been brilliant.

As we get up to leave, she notices a thick brown stain on the bum and leg of his beige trousers. She recoils and points all at once but before she can comment, I run my finger along the stain and then pop it in my mouth. I turn and tell her..

We have to go now; he’s done a poo.

I thought she was going to faint.

I do like chocolate cake.

BSD

February 12, 2018

When to step in…

It’s half-term here and the cubs are with me.

Whilst the wearing down of my energy levels begins, I’m eternally grateful that they’re here.

Once they’re fed, they’re playing boisterously with one another. Watching them, I reflect on the rough and tumble that I had with my sisters growing up; it was great fun.

I also think back to my risk tolerance, which was obviously a lot higher back then.

They fight, wrestle, kiss and cuddle but every move seems to bring their heads dangerously close to every corner in the room that I’d never noticed before.

I flinch a lot but I try not to step in. I’m a great believer in learning from experience, as long as that experience doesn’t involve surgery.

They’re fine.

They then decide that they need to be outside. I can’t agree more. It’s about 3C with ice still on the ground, but there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.

Nah; I don’t believe that either. It’s horribly cold. I send them out anyway.

She’s off with the keys and heading for the garage; she wants her archery set. I’m not out there to supervise and wonder if I need to be. I trust her. The only rule is that there is no shooting if her brother is down range.

I guess we’re at the crossroads where I have to relinquish some of that responsibility to them, well, more to her as she is older and know that whatever will be will be.

Helicopter parenting can do more damage than a bump on the head.

Here are two occasions when I have stepped in; I was ironing in my room and they were in her room; the following sentences had me running:

“It’s time for the sacrifice!”

and

“We can either chop your head off, or half of your head off”

I think she’s been doing history at school.

BSD

February 10, 2018

What’s on the contraband shelf today?

Here’s mine.

It’s actually the kitchen worktop but it’s where the cubs get patted down, airport style, before we leave for school and nursery.

I have to admire them; they never tire in their attempts to get stuff out.

It gets cleared at the weekend.

What’s on yours?

BSD

February 7, 2018February 7, 2018

Hair

It’s an issue; but it needn’t be.

The combing of it, the cutting of it and well general maintenance. Constant consternation.

The cubs are mixed race. A term I hate as it signifies the human desire to neatly pigeon-hole everything away. Everything must have a classification. I digress.

They are half Afro-Caribbean, and technically quarter Mauritian, quarter Scottish. To the eye, they’re Caribbean. Hope you’re keeping up.

Their ethnicity is important because their hair is typical of our race; slightly thicker and prone to tangles if not cared for correctly. Correctly maintained, it looks amazing. This subject has caused and causes countless rows.

Girl cub loves having her hair done and always did. We had a heck of a search for the rights products but when we found them, bingo. Products are the key.

Boy cub? well that’s a whole separate chapter. All I can say is sorry. To my neighbours, passers-by and probably to a couple of nearby postcodes. Washing his hair sounds like a horrific assault.

I mentioned a while back that when he was younger, we nearly lost him to an ear infection that put pressure on his brain. The resolution, following a brief stay in hospital, was to be fitted with grommets. A drawback of having grommets is that you have to limit water getting into the ears.

When his hair needs washing, out comes the cotton wool. And the screaming. I mentioned horrific before. It really is quite bad.

He hates it. He hates water in his face and in his eyes and isn’t shy at letting you know. I tried so many different things including using dry flannels, getting him to look up, using the shower (with and without the head) and using a cup. All resulted in increased decibels.

I went to the internet for help.

I found this

There was the usual due process that I apply to everything and I wasn’t convinced. It was 32p, so I bought it.

It took a while to arrive so I promptly forgot that I bought it. It arrived and I thought it was a suspect package.

I opened it, and I wasn’t convinced. It was folded for easy transit so it was badly misshapen.

I tried it on and nearly passed out. In their defence, they’re made for kids and I’m not the smallest of humans.

Bath-time arrived and I decided to give it a try. I took it out of the hair product basket in the bathroom and showed it to him.

He looked at it for a little while, then shook his head.

We tried it anyway.

It worked and I stand corrected. This could be the best 32p I’ve ever spent.

BSD

February 4, 2018

I’ve noticed this..

This is an unexpected issue of being a single parent.

When you buy clothes for your cubs, they invariably end up at your ex’s house.

I’m guessing that this is more likely if the parental share is disproportionate.

If anyone has an idea how to rectify this, other than handing over naked cubs, I’m all ears.

BSD

February 1, 2018

Is it always a struggle?

This question seems to roll around my head quite often; usually when I forget how lucky I am.

“Only dead people never get stressed, never get broken hearts, never experience the disappointment that comes with failure.

Tough emotions are part of our contract with life” Susan David, PhD

I lifted this straight off of a Ted Talk that I stumbled across on twitter. I like it. At some point this weekend I’ll listen to it all, but it did get me thinking.

Why do we have adversity?

I think there are a number of answers to this question, the main one being equilibrium. A term that actually refers to the state of a chemical reaction in equal flux but has found comfortable use in day-to-day language.

Balance. That’s why. If we didn’t have the rough, we would neither recognise or enjoy the smooth.

Then there’s the others

As in the worse off. There is always someone worse off than you. It’s worth remembering but to be honest, that’s a skill. A divine one at times.

Silver lining

This is the bit I like. I’ve spoken about it before; when going through tough times, something invariably turns up to turn the tide.

It’s always worth remembering this.

It’s also worth remembering, as the psychologist Susan David said, the only way to avoid the pain and heartache that comes with life is to not live it. Don’t expose yourself to it. Don’t take chances.

But where’s the fun in that?

So as you’ve probably picked up, things are challenging at the moment. The positive thing is that I now recognise the signs. Once you can do this, you can attempt to control your responses.

Owning your feelings and responses is a better option than shying away from any experience that may well be painful.

The greatest rewards are often linked to the greatest risk.

Ending on a cliché,

BSD

PS, stay positive my lovely people.

January 20, 2018

Normal service

OK. I’ve calmed down. The last couple of posts were a mixture of anger and frustration, but I’m better than that.

In order to lighten the mood, I’ve amalgamated the 3 posts that have been sitting in draft.

Whole lotta 👅 going on
The usual Friday bedtime routine consists of me explaining to the cubs that they can’t sleep in my bed. Sometimes I mean it. This time I did.

They have a workaround. First thing on Saturday morning, they jump into bed with me and we have a cuddle and watch a movie. This time, I even let them consume a bag of popcorn in my bed.

Bad idea.

At a glance, I would say that their success rate for popcorn to mouth was roughly 50%. Give or take a 5% margin. Once the film finished I told them that I wanted all the uneaten bits cleaned up while I was in the shower.

Whilst brushing my teeth, I heard a commotion followed by silence. I resisted the urge to look.

When I did emerge, the bed was clean, the duvet turned down and they were nowhere to be seen. Nice work cubs.

That evening at bedtime, whilst reading Dig dig digging for the millionth time, I thanked them for tidying my bed.

“That’s ok dad; once we’d got the big bits we just licked the rest clean”

I sat silently, asking Jesus why he’d let something like that happen.

Getting my own back
Tonight’s routine was a little muted. They’re both under par so there was little resistance.

Tucking in the eldest, she remarked that she felt awful with the flu. Her temperature was elevated and she had a headache.

“Dad? How does flu spread?”

Well it’s a virus that is very clever once it gets in your system. It can hide, it can change, known as mutation and will act differently in different people.

“Yes but how does it get into your body?

This is where it gets really interesting; it’s so clever that it knows it prefers to be inside new people to survive so what it does is to make you cough and sneeze and it’s then carried in the thousands of water droplets that come out of us when we do. If you breathe those water droplets in the virus gets into you. It can also survive for 24 hours on hard surfaces like door handles. You’ll then come along and touch that door handle, then touch your face. The result is the same.

She silently takes it all in and begins to process it.

“So when we were in the car with you daddy, that’s when we got it?”

No. I kept licking your face while you slept.

“DADDY!!”

Sprint finish
” Dad; I think you need a new workout. I’ve made one for you”

Ok sounds good. What’ve you got?

“Well you start of with 25 star jumps..”

Ok; then?

“Then you move onto 25 press ups..”

Sounds good. Anything else?

“You should touch your toes 3 times..”

Sounds like a spell now but go on..

“Then finish with a small run; say 13 miles”

I’ll pass.

BSD

January 19, 2018

Ignoring my own advice

It seems my tactic of not arguing with the ex isn’t working.

I have the cubs with me. I’ve had them since yesterday. The youngest has a fever, sore throat and runny nose. I’ve kept him off nursery.

Following the school run, my eldest is complaining of fatigue and a high temperature. The back of my hand on her head confirms this. On the way home, they both fall asleep.

I message the ex and tell her that both cubs have the flu.

Surprise surprise. Almost as if they’d been exposed to someone with the flu early last week.

She asked me what their temperatures are. I tell her that they’re both above average but he is hotter. This isn’t good enough. She asks if I have a thermometer. I don’t.

I rely on a method my mother taught me; using the back of my hand for a rough guide and my cheek for more accuracy. I love it.

She insists on dropping off a tympanic thermometer on her way home. I tell her it’s not necessary. The kids are monitored and medicated as necessary.

Not good enough. She’s coming anyway; lectures me on my paternal skills and obligations, again, and says she’ll be there shortly.

By the time the doorbell rings, both cubs are under a blanket with me on the sofa, having been fed and duly medicated.

I answer; extremely annoyed. She wants to see them. They’ve heard her voice. She comes in but not before I tell her she’s out of order. A good old British saying straight out of the East End of London.

She takes her shoes off and sits down, preparing to take temperatures. Both within tolerable ranges. Almost as if I’d looked after them.

She then starts advising me on dosages and checking regimes. I flip. Nicely though, as the cubs are present.

I remind her, that anytime the cubs have been really ill, it was me who discovered so. Me who made her call ambulances, told her what to say then conversed with medics.

It was me, who walked around her to get to our choking daughter, whilst she stared at her, totally unaware of a problem.

I also reminded her that it’s me, with actual medical training, that I have used to save lives over the last two decades.

She’s out staying what little welcome she had; I politely ask her to leave. I know, that youngest is going to be deeply upset at mummy’s fleeting visit. She’s off to the gym again. She’s done a similar thing before.

He breaks down in tears. Offers of hugs and his favourite blanket are rejected. This lasted for 15 minutes.

Luckily, the Power Rangers appeared on the Red Bull soapbox race and made him smile.

I breathe.

I’ve left elements of this exchange out, especially peripheral (and perpetual) pseudo arguments that have been rumbling for a while now.

My own advice has got me nowhere and now I intend to fight fire with fire.

I guess it takes two to argue.

BSD

January 18, 2018

Inappropriate reflex

And I don’t appear to be able to control it.

Allow me to elaborate. There is a lady on the school run, well actually she’s the mum of one of my daughter’s friends. She’s also one of the carers in after-school club and I can’t stop this inappropriate reflex when in her presence.

It’s happened about 7 times now. No, not about 7 times, 7 times. Exactly 7 times. I’ve counted.

It happens when I sign my daughter out of the club and we have a conversation. She’s a lovely lady and we get on really well; we always have done.

As I sign the time and we say our goodbyes, it happens. It always happens.

I wink, and walk away.

As I walk away I always, always ask myself why the heck I just did that? but whenever it’s her, I always do.

Now let me add some back story here. I have no intentions towards this lovely lady. She has a great personality and is attractive but I have no improper intent towards her for a multitude of reasons, not least because she’s not interested and that she has a fantastic husband who I regularly converse with whenever we see one another.

I started to think it harmless and she doesn’t respond in any way but I think I’m now conditioned to close our conversations in that way.

Not just her

I’ve only ever caught myself doing it once before, in a meeting with the Head Mistress of the school when we thought my daughter was being bullied. After a rather terse exchange I threw a wink and cheeky smile combo which wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in a bar.

With the speed of an echo she threw one back and met my smile with one of her own. I felt uncomfortable. I, felt uncomfortable!

I dismissed it as a nervous response to my wink which was so out-of-place in the whole conversation.

I did try to stifle a wink once but the result was a cross between a sneeze and a medical episode.

I feel like a cad from a vintage film.

I’m laughing at this now but it could be fever.

BSD