GUYS! put your school uniform in the wash before your bath please!
GUYS! put your school uniform in the wash before your bath please!
It hasn’t been plain sailing in the BSD household recently, and I’m squarely to blame.
Youngest cub has made the quantum leap to being potty trained. A real milestone in the transition from toddler to child. I’m ever so proud of him; he even goes to the bathroom standing up, after observing daddy in some uncomfortably candid moments.
I was conscious of this milestone as he entered the schooling system last September. His birthday is in late August and he had only just turned 4. Personally, I think that this is too young to enter full-time education, but such is life. I wanted him to be dry by the time he entered the system.
There is no shortage of reading out there with useful hints and tips. I knew what I wanted to achieve and set about doing it. I had the appropriate discussions with him and we spoke about what we would do to achieve it. We were both quite excited.
At first, things went quite well. He would excitedly run up to my room in the morning to proclaim his dry night. Great success!
He then had a couple of slip ups, but this was fine; the road to success is rarely a straight one. We could handle it. Bed changed, cub washed, no harm done; on with our day.
We then had a frequency shift; the dry days were beginning to lose out to the wet days. As we awoke in the morning, the disappointment in his voice was heartbreaking. More cuddles and reassurances that this was okay and that he would get it in time were administered.
I changed tactics slightly. Both cubs usually bedded down with a bottle of water to combat nighttime thirst. This stopped. We also watched the volumes of drink that we consumed in the pre-bedtime hour. This was restricted too.
It didn’t help.
We then tried a reward system. The star system that was already established was utilised. A star would be rewarded for more dry nights than wet nights.
This was wrong.
Things seemed to be getting worse.
Not only were we experiencing more wet nights but his skin also began to suffer. He’d clearly been peeing early in the night and then sleeping in it. The damage was visible.
He was also getting damaged inside with feelings of regret and shame of not doing as was expected of him.
I had a paradigm shift.
It followed some soul-searching on my part and answering a few questions.
The answers, were quite damming.
Time for a change.
We stopped. We had another chat and more importantly we re-bonded.
This took the form of a huge cuddle whilst watching his favourite film and eating popcorn. Eldest wasn’t left out; she got under one arm (and near the popcorn). I could, quite literally feel us all renergising in each other’s company.
There were some big learning points here and they were all for me.
I realised that I had let outside influences decide on what was best for my cub, rather than let him tell me.
Please understand, I don’t mean that I expected a 4-year-old to vocalise what he wanted; our children tell us things in so many other ways. We, as adults have to shut out the external noise and truly listen to what they are ‘saying’.
I was guilty of comparing him to his sister, to his classmates, to books e.t.c and in doing so, I ignored the only one I should’ve really listened to; him.
Attaching desired behaviour to a reward system is an age-old methodology but I applied it incorrectly. I’m still not sure I should have applied it at all.
He’s fine now. His skin shows no traces and he’s his usual, cheeky self. He’s back in the training pants for bed as the realisation that he is a deep sleeper will most likely mean that he takes a little longer to get dry.
I have every confidence that he will be; all in good time.
Tell cubs this;
When showing adults something, the object does not need to touch our retina.
I’ve been quiet. I’m sorry.
The rules have changed and I’m in the process of seeking legal help.
Whilst there’s no good time to do this, now is a really bad time.
It’s also necessary.
When I have the energy I’ll write about it as objectively as I can.
Whilst I’m emoted and have a taste of fire in my mouth, the keyboard stays silent.
Every day, find a reason to smile; counting your blessings is the best way.
The centenary of armistice is upon us.
I write this 100 years to the day, of the end of the great war. The war to end all wars. From an early age I was brought up to respect the 11th day of the 11th month. It’s importance indelible in my memory as my parents gently introduced me to the futility of the human condition.
I’ve eased the cubs into some sort of recognition of events, sparing them the sheer volume of life lost not just in the great war, but in the following war and subsequent conflicts. There’s so much to unravel in there but there’s no rush.
Eldest, at 8 year’s old has a good understanding. The school has done a good job there. For her part, she took things into her own hands when she began to take on in-depth, self learning about Mary Seacole. She became inspired.
On friday, four of the local schools came together to pay their respects at the principal church in our town. It’s a majestic, ornate building, that I had only ever driven past. It dates back to the time of the civil war and the Reverend delighted the gathered children with a story of how a cannon had been placed atop the church to fire upon a nearby castle. Collective gasps echoed.
He then pointed out that the ceiling was adorned with symbols from the Islamic faith, delighting in his house of worship’s multi-cultural appeal.
The school children were given pride of place in the front pews duly shepherded by respective teachers. They were bursting with energy
Parents were welcomed and as I had the day off, I wouldn’t have dreamed of being anywhere else. Of course, I broke protocol, went over and made sure that she knew I was in attendance, before taking my seat at the back.
A headteacher took the reigns and began proceedings. Calling the schools up one by one, the children paid their respects in different ways.
Cub’s class got up and expressed themselves, to music. With the odd monologue thrown in for good measure. One soliloquy punctuated the passing of a giant poppy and they were done. I was up and applauding; Eldest cub delivered her lines beautifully and projected across the 400 strong audience, wearing and wielding her poppy with pride.
Eldest’s Brownie Pack has been asked to lead a procession from the local church to the war memorial.
The pack, church and memorial are all in the village where we used to live and next door to the cub’s school. We awoke early to make sure they were both properly fed and looking smart.
Daddy made the effort too, with very shiny shoes.
The Brownies had the first two rows; the Scouts on the opposite side. The church, more compact than friday’s affair but full nonetheless. I had my concerns about youngest cub. Whilst he’s lively, he’s also quite well-behaved; but I had concerns about the two minute’s silence.
As it transpired, I did my boy a disservice.
A smartly turned out gentleman behind us, with his equally attired family walked forwards to read the names of local servicemen who had passed in both conflicts. His wife kept hold of twin girls, aged about 5.
As dad began to read, the girls began to giggle. Then chuckle; then laugh aloud. Mum tried her best to quiet them but they were having none of it. Dad pressed on, his disdain etched on his face.
Youngest cub, standing on the pew to oversee proceedings turned to look at them, gave a long stare, before looking at me and shaking his head. Mum ushered the girls out of the church.
A second of judgement rushed into my head, before I remembered where I was and dismissed it.
The moment was upon us. The last post played and as the bugle fell silent, so did the congregation.
Youngest became a statue, to the point that he physically jumped when the bugle broke the silence. I gave him a big hug and kissed his forehead.
We walked the short distance to the local memorial. Youngest couldn’t believe his luck as we got to walk down the middle of the road, hand un-held. We are spoilt by the weather. It’s unseasonably warm and it’s bright. Earlier, the heavens had opened.
Having young children, we took pride of place near the front. We read another short sermon before the last post played again. This time, youngest smiled and nodded at me, showing that he knew what to do.
Giggles breakout. It’s the usual suspects. Their dad is glaring..
The bugle blows on.
Brown Owl had given youngest a crucifix with a poppy on it to place on the memorial. We watch everyone else before taking our turn. We begin well but the sense of occasion begins to get to him. He clings to my leg and buries his head in my thigh.
We press on, to compassionate sighs from the crowd and cameras snapping. He begins to fold, but I steady his had, and we place the crucifix together. A respectful departure from the memorial is nigh on impossible with the level of entanglement but we give it a go.
As the service ends and we depart, several couples say how proud I should be of my children.
I think my face said it all.
Ps, extra stars all round, chocolate and a brief spell in the park showed my appreciation.
Not being around the cubs 24/7. They spend the majority if the time with their mum. This is tough.
I read a twitter post from a single dad a while back where he admitted that he broke down in tears the first time they went away and stayed with their mum. I really felt for him. I also immediately wondered if I should have felt more when they first went?
Solipsistic thoughts aside, I realise that in this situation I have been quite fortunate. Although things aren’t a bed of roses between me and the ex, she’s stayed local and realises the importance of me being active in the cub’s lives.
I adore them; I really do. They are everything and I’ve always tried my hardest to build and maintain a strong relationship with them. It’s good for all of us.
The difficulty comes when you start to see the values of the other partner enacted in the cub’s behaviour.
We have differences. Obviously. If we didn’t or they weren’t insurmountable, we’d still be together.
We have; they are and we aren’t.
As parents, we always think we’re right, right? We sometimes find ourselves looking at other parents in scorn. We might not always say something, but we think it.. ‘You don’t do it like that…’
Well when a family splits, you can’t help but judge the other parent in the same way. I try not to.
But some times….
I’m a values based individual; sometimes it can be my undoing.
I can turn off something or someone if they don’t share my values. My principles guide my actions and it tends to be a golden thread in my life. I struggle with those that don’t. I don’t understand them, or what drives them. That can be an issue.
I see my job, as dad, to teach and guide. I prepare the cubs for a future in an uncertain world.
A world which, despite Trump, Brexit and emerging far right threats is a lot better than it was a generation ago.
That said, some things don’t change; determination, fortitude and a positive mental attitude will overcome most obstacles. So will knowledge of self-worth. Never, ever, sell yourself short, nor let anyone undervalue you.
Early days I know, but have a plan.
They’re too young, so it’s our job to keep them on the right path. Respect for others, humility and honesty are rewarded, as is telling the truth. My daughter gets it and there have been several, teary confessionals. More often than not, she’s been rewarded for that honesty, or at least not punished as much. My son, well that’s work in progress.
Here’s the challenge.
They learn so much more from what we do, than what we say. Not only do they pick up on the incongruous but they will mimic whatever it is that they see. I’ve written about this before, but our children are the mirrors that we hold up to ourselves.
Make sure you like what you see.
I’m a Godfather! and I’m so very happy.
A dear friend and work colleague’s daughter, whom I’ve known since she was a baby, has asked me to be the Godfather of her first child, a beautiful daughter. I was both humbled and honoured by the request and accepted gladly.
They live near my old stomping ground, just over an hour’s drive away. The journey provides a good opportunity for a discussion with the cubs.
I explain the concept to them both. Youngest, unconcerned with my happiness is more concerned with the replica snake, which he has somehow managed to smuggle into the car. (He’s in smart clothes and has been patted down. My game is obviously off..)
Eldest, is listening intently and joining the dots.
‘But you already have me..’
She’s not replacing you.
‘Do you have to do anything, in general?’
It’s about spiritual guidance
No not ghosts. You go to a Church of England School. More the Holy Ghost.
‘So ghosts then?’
Ok Ghosts. It’s more about taking care of her spiritual upbringing, should anything happen to her parents.
She’s silent. That can only mean one thing; the processor is in full tilt.
She eventually looks at me.
‘So how many people have to die for me to get a sister?’
Well, if it’s down to me and your mum, every other person on the planet, I think but not say. I chuckle to myself anyway.
We hit traffic; I’m worried about the snake charmer. He’s not long out of nappies and is still prone to the odd accident. He’s 4, so I don’t expect miracles. Journeys such as these are now bookended by toilet breaks.
He assures me that he’s ok.
In all honesty, the drive is taking twice as long as it should, and I could do with a …. break myself. The cubs are starting to unravel. Not prone to ‘are we there yet?’, they begin to ask.
SatNav is rarely my friend and it chooses today to renew our ill blood. Even with the contingency time I built-in, we may be late. I call my friend, who directs me to the Church, and into a parking space outside. Thankfully, I text them when I left home, so they got a sense of the traffic issues.
We all walk in.
Key players are in the front pews. It’s an intimate service; family and a few friends. The cubs are loving it. Eldest has been tasked with holding the Christening presents. Youngest, has energy to burn. He spots a play area off to the left. It’s immediately embargoed. My mistake..
Whilst the Vicar is delivering the sermon, I notice something unusual on her cassock. I can’t, quite, make it out. It looks brighter in one square patch. Within that square patch appears to be a shape. I look a bit harder. I think it’s a picture of some description.
What in the world…
It appears to be a T-Rex.
The Reverend catches me looking at her robes. I look up and catch her catching me. Without losing her stride, she looks across to my son, who is shining his prized, dinosaur slide show miniature torch directly onto her.
My pat-down game is way off. He’s allowed into the play area.
Post Service, we have a buffet at the local public house. The Jurassic incident went unnoticed by most and my blood pressure is almost back to normal.
Across a couple of tables I noticed the wife of a friend. I haven’t seen her in a while so we smile at each other. Even though it’s October, it’s unseasonably warm and she’s wearing a lovely, flowing maxi dress. As I’m smiling at her, I tilt my head in curiosity. I reinforce the tilt with a congruous gaze. I head over.
Ooh I say! Looks like you guys have some good news!
‘Eh?’ she replies, slightly confused.
I make some eye gestures at her bump.
‘Oh….. no. I’ve just had a few too many pizzas and pies over the summer….’
What felt like a month later, but was actually a split second, youngest cub ran past, dropped some sweets and bent down to pick them up, exposing a poo stain that went up his back.
Thank you Jesus.
I scooped him up, made my excuses and left.
Best Christening I’ve ever attended.