Evening thoughts..

How do you coparent effectively?

Where the heck do you start?

It’s a minefield trying to set standards for your children when you couldn’t make a relationship work as adults. 

Even the basics have the potential to descend into some fresh hell. 

I’m tired. Fresh start and a fresh outlook needed. No more tonight. 

Monday morning

The biggest thing about relocating for me is timings.

I know what time I need to be where but I’m still not sure of how long it will take to get there.
You see time is very important to me. I don’t like to ‘waste’ it, and I don’t like wasting other people’s. I’m not anal or anything, but i’m.. no, ok, I am. I try to work backwards from my time due at a place to calculate when I’ll need to leave. Allow for traffic and some other stuff and voila. It works most of the time.

We’re late(ish). I try not to get stressy. It’s not the kids’ fault, but this is the thing with relocation. I’ve moved too far from where I need to be.

The kids are on form for the drive in. Angry Birds denied her fallback today is I-Spy. This can be challenging; past games have seen me exhausting ‘Ns’, for the reveal to be ‘Squirrel’…..

Dont make me explain it.

For some reason I can never guess ‘teeth’, even with her great clues. My suggestions are a little more pedestrian. I’ll have to remember that one for tomorrow.

Daughter dropped off it’s a slow toddle with the boy to the school office to pay for an upcoming trip. 25p over, I suggest the secretary place it in the offshore account for a rainy day.

I decide to promote the big man to the front seat for the onward journey to nursery. It’s a 3 point rather than a 5 point (preferred), but even at 2, he has the size and stature to fit safely.  Interesting mistake..

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Despite me pre-empting and moving the seat back, he can reach everything. He keys my radio, turns on the heated seat and puts the car in second gear. His comprehension is good, so I explain to him that what he is doing isn’t good. He stops.

The passenger window opens. And shuts. He turns and looks at me with the biggest smile in recorded history. And opens it. And shuts it.  At this point if he was in the back I would have isolated the windows.

And open..

He then slides the center console open. Just a few centimetres, but enough for OCD daddy. I close it. He looks at me, smiles, and opens it, almost to exactly the same distance. I close it again. He gives a smile and opens it again – I can’t help but admire his curiosity; he knows his time in the front seat is limited.

The toddle into nursery is uneventful, and he joyfully hangs his bag and gillet on his hook. Entry into the playroom is more fraught. He doesn’t want me to leave and I don’t want to leave him. The staff are lovely, and he always settles eventually but not without tears. His strength matches his size and it’s a physical wrench as well as emotional.

There’s something so perverse about having kids then going to work in order to pay for someone else to look after them.

A good way to finish the day.

Painting!

Proves to be quite an effective way of rounding off the day.

I realise that I spend a lot of time with them. I also know that this is me compensating for not being there all the time. Despite this being of my own volition, it does get to me at times.

An unexpected frustration of splitting homes is that you find yourself short of ‘things’. Things that you used to have but have no more. Things like places to put paint. Using one of my [many] popular sayings, adapt and overcome, a dinner plate makes a great makeshift pallette.

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The eagle eyed amongst you may have also spotted the old duvet, that now doubles as a sacrificial surface.

I’ve been introduced to Aboriginal dot painting by my daughter; something she had learnt this week in school. I’m suitably impressed with both her and the school curriculum.

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I’m less impressed with my efforts….

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Don’t ask me to explain; I can’t. I changed my mind several times whilst creating it and this was the result.

Artistically, she takes after her mum.

 

Dinner table conversation. 

We’re all pretty tired and the cubs are both showing signs of fatigue; short tempers, edge of tears, you know the routine.

The youngest takes delight in leaning from his high chair and pointing at the gap in the eldest’s front teeth. Repeatedly stating, in his speak, that she has teeth missing.

She leans towards him, takes a deep breath and blows vigorously into his face.

For my son, this is kryptonite. 

He recoils and bursts into floods of tears, repeatedly saying no.

I tell her to stop, reminding her that at some point the tables will turn. He will be bigger and stronger than she can imagine.

Her response made me chuckle..

Does that mean that until then I can do him harm?

No my darling; no it does not.

Sunday cont.

Now concurrently I’m ruining another recipe for savory cupcakes, and new potatoes in their skins. Add sausages and whilst this isn’t my usual roast, It’s a healthy and interesting meal. Everything done (she’s still not coming down (Sunday) and in the oven. How important can bicarbonate of soda be?

And they’re back!

The cubs are here and I couldn’t be happier.

Youngest has actually been with me for most of the day because he’s been under the weather a little. He’s got a history of being poorly, so we don’t take any chances with his health.

Luckily the rash is an extreme histamine reaction rather than anything more sinister so cetirizine should see him right.

It’s amazing how quickly the chorus of:

“Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad.  Dad? dad! daddy? dad. Dad? dad! daddy? dad”

can get to you. I’m only in the kitchen making dinner…

The above involves some poetic licence; I do answer occasionally but then the process starts again.

LML