Words of wisdom from a stranger

Going shopping with five children is a military mission. We have our list ready and a plan that can’t be stray from.Go in, get what we have to, pay and go.

As quickly and efficiently as possible before any tantrum or fight can start.

Today we used plan b, which consists of going to the shop as I wait in the car with the kids as they fuss and fight whilst I bury myself in my thoughts so that I don’t go mad whilst my partner runs in and gets what we need.

When we do it this way, there is always something that we forget.

I took the two eldest and went back to get the forgotten bits.

What should have been a five minute trip took about twenty, half of it being spent telling them to watch where they are going, not to run and to be careful and not to bump into people and to stop spinning.

When it gets to this point, I walk ahead at full steam and throw things into the basket without stopping, that means they are at half trot behind me trying to keep up. Scanning around I find the quietest till and get my stuff on the conveyer belt.

The girls were hopping around asking for sweets, notebooks, pens and whatever their eyes could catch. I was surprised they hadn’t asked for bleach by that point.

The cashier, who’s been working there since time began, a lovely woman, looked at me, then grabbed the girls attention by asking them about school and how they were getting along and why they looked so sad.

‘Daddy won’t buy me this and daddy won’t buy me that!’

Huff!

The usual drone of how horrible daddy is, forgetting that they had been bought new drawing pads, pens, transferable tattoos and friendship bracelets a few hours ago.

Instead of the usual plumose that you’d get from most people, she took the time to talk to them.

There was this look of sadness and affection in her eyes that wanted to tell a thousand stories.

‘Don’t be so hard on your dad, he is a good man and a hard worker.

‘Do you think he likes to get up in the morning, especially when it’s cold to have to go to work?

‘Do you think he wants to leave you girls at home, have very little time with you because he wants to?’ Her English isn’t always great.

They shrugged.

‘I promise you with all my heart that he doesn’t.

‘He does it because he has to. He loves you so much that he wants to make sure that you have all this wonderful food, those lovely clothes that you wear, that you don’t go hungry.

‘Whether he wants to or not, every day he gets up, leaves the house in the cold, the rain and sometimes the snow to go to work so you can have what you need.

‘If he says no to things is because he loves you and knows what is best. He’s not doing it because he doesn’t want you to have it.

‘Did you get anything today?’

They nodded.

‘You see? He already spoilt you for today. Why do you ask for more? I know how you feel, I have younger sisters and my parents would say no, not because they wanted to, but because they knew what was best for us. You two are the eldest and it might feel like that your sisters get more, but they don’t. You might get asked to help, but that is because your parents can’t do it by themselves, even they need help and you two, being of your age, can help. Don’t feel bad about that, it’s good because they trust you.

‘Don’t forget that you are lucky, there are children who don’t have clothes or food and some don’t even have parents.’

She lowered her eyes and I thought she was going to cry.

‘I lost my mum last year. Now I have no one to tell me what’s right or wrong, what’s good or bad.’

The children didn’t know where to look when she uttered those last words. If they could have found a rock to hide under, at this point they would have.

‘Your mum and dad won’t be there forever, so listen to them and love them, because there will be no one in the world that will be able to take their place.’

For the first time in their lives I saw real sadness and fear in their eyes. I thought they were going to cry, but she hadn’t finished yet.

She looked at me and smiled, ‘now, don’t you think you should say sorry to your daddy?’

They nodded and apologised.

I was genuinely touched by this speech.

They remained quiet as I packed my shopping, payed and got them home.

When we got in, my second came up to me, gave me a big hug and told me that she loves me. She picked up her new pad and pens and immersed herself in the patterns and colours she formed on the pages.

My eldest stood in the kitchen frowning.

When mum came in and saw her, she got asked what happened.

The barrage of things I didn’t do came out, what I didn’t buy her and that I didn’t let her look around.

All I could do was scream, internally of course.

Then I thought, screw this, after the speech she had just been given by someone else and the way this woman had opened up to her?

It didn’t feel right that she didn’t listen.

So, I told mum about the little shopping excursion and what the lady who served us had said.

I felt quite sad about it all, this wasn’t a family friend, or a relative, but someone who thought they could give my children a little life lesson on loss.

When the younger sister listened and understood, all my eldest did was mourn the fact that she didn’t get anything.

I hope and pray that one day, before it’s too late, she will take the kindness this woman has bestowed on her and appreciate the small things in life instead of the want for more possession.

Admittedly, she did calm down and used some of the stuff bought for, so I am hoping that it was a delayed reaction and those words did sink in after all.

Drenched at Wembley

During the teacher strike we took the kids to Wembley. There was a fountain by the arena and we let them have a bit of fun since it was a warm sunny day (one of the rare ones this year). Sadly our eldest had to go to school because her teacher belongs to a different Union that wasn’t taking industrial action.

Here are some photos of the day:

How do you take yours?

It’s strange being an adult with responsibility weighing on my shoulders. There is always something to do, places to go; be it the school, shopping or a birthday party. The day just doesn’t stop and time always seems to be running faster than me, most of the time it feels like a race against Usain Bolt at his prime. It never stops, even after the kids are in bed; the mess they leave behind has to be cleaned up, dishes to be done…. We all know how it goes, by the time you sit down, it’s time to go to bed or you wake up on the couch in the middle of the night.The mornings….oh the mornings. There is no functioning without coffee, especially in our household. It’s like the life blood for the adults. We make an effort to be up before the children, doesn’t always work though.

I remember when I was living with my mother, in the before and after period, unless she had her jar of coffee (to give you a better understanding of how much she drank, because she drank espressos from the Italian Mocha), there was no talking to her. Her brain was scrambled until she had her morning wake up. She couldn’t even move her lips, she’d lean on the kitchen counter and with every sip her body would straighten.

We are not that bad, by any means. Let’s be honest, Italians are known for their coffee drinking as well as their food.

Anytime I went back on holiday, I’d sit at the breakfast table and everyone, including my cousins of whatever age, would be drinking the caffè latte with biscuits. In town we’d have to stop at the bar for an espresso or five. One for the digestion after their huge meals, and sometimes as a night cap.

Libyans like their coffee too, theirs is stronger though. It’s especially nice with a drop of rose water of orange blossom. It needs it though, being very similar to Turkish coffee. Add some Turkish delight with it and it’s heaven.

Going to the coffee section at the store is like going to a candy shop with all the variety from Italian to Colombian, Kenian, French, espresso, Nescafé, nespresso, flat white, cappuccino, latte…..coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee….

Sorry, I got a bit lost there, I was having a Homer Simpson moment.

We do enjoy going to a coffee shop when the kids are at school, having a coffee or two, get the youngest a juice, before we go off and do some shopping. We can’t really go with them, they overwhelm us and they like doing the ‘I go this way, you go that way’ game.

We have a couple of our children who have got a taste for tea and coffee.

Please, understand, it wasn’t through us.

We’d make a friend or family member a cup of tea or coffee and whilst we were distracted by the conversation they would have stolen the mug and demolished the drink.

The others won’t go near the stuff, they have sniffed it and turned their nose up in disgust, asking us ‘how can you drink that stuff?’

Then there are the usual ‘I’ll never drink tea or coffee, even when I’m old like you.’

Thanks for the ‘old’ part.

I remember saying the same thing to my parents and look at me now.

Admittedly it’s not very nice when you can’t function properly until you’ve done your morning routine, but I guess everyone has one and I’ve got to live with mine, especially if you consider that my job requires me to get up at three in the morning at times. At that time of the morning, that pick-me-up is a blessing in disguise.

I guess there are worse things I could do.

So, tell me one thing, how do your take yours?

At home I have mine black, no sugar and as strong as can be. When I go out I like a flat white, which is small, creamy and easy to drink.

It’s not strictly true that we won’t go to a coffee shop with the kids. I enjoy the cafe experience with them, especially when they are well behaved, I’ll get them a smoothie or something of the sort and a cake.

There isn’t much you can do as an adult with five kids, time isn’t on your side, always on the go, cooking, cleaning, school, nursery, nursery and school again, laundry, dishes, uniforms and the list goes on and on and multiply it by seven people, it’s an incredibly high mountain. So going out for a coffee is a little break, a time to relax and enjoy the day before going back into parent mode.

I don’t know about you, but I know we need it, it might be for a half hour or so, but it’s enough to feel recharged and human for a little while.

So, if you decide to meet up with us, just let us know how you like your coffee!

Insecurity and prejudices

Throughout this blog, I have spoken about the kids and my hopes and wishes for them, the fears I have and snippets about parenthood and its trials and joys.In this one I want to tell you something about me. I’m not going to tell my life story, it’s long and it’s not what this whole thing is about, even though writing has been good therapy.

I’m a worrier (if that’s even a word, if it’s not, I apologise to all the grammar obsessives) and I obsessively think about things and events. It’s not good at all, because I can focus on events from my past for too long or change my mind on something and make the event seem like a rash decision because of the over rationalising that has confused me.

Confused?

I know the feeling.

When you meet me, I seem like this calm, secure person where nothing much seems to faze me.

If you look inside me, you will meet one of the most insecure people, always doubting, always worrying and very nervous.

There is no known root to my problem that I have found and as you can imagine I have tried. However, I have found the period of my life when I realised I was very insecure.

I couldn’t have been more than ten, maybe eleven, my mother had a drinking problem at the time and she was good at disguising it, which, to this day, she puts down to the divorce.

At the time we lived in a strict Catholic country and by hook or by crook, their marriages had to work. My mother being of the same ilk, coming from a small village in Italy that to this day is stuck in a time warp.

I find that funny now, because there was always some scandal about this person having cheated with this one, or of couples playing happy families but sleeping in different rooms.

Even though, as a young boy, I was susceptible to their beliefs.

It was a very strange time for me because I knew that my parents divorcing was a good thing for everyone, but the religious influence said that it was wrong.

What cemented my distrust in people was the day the school priest picked me up by the little hair just above where my sideburns would one day grow. How could a man who preached peace and tolerance condone violence? To make it worse, his words stung the most ‘just because you’re a Muslim it doesn’t make you special!’ He whispered to me.

All this because I told a kid on the school bus that he was a spoilt brat.

I couldn’t help myself when I heard those words, my mother was/is Catholic, I was an angry kid with no outlet so I spat on him (not something I had done before or after), which earned me a punch in the stomach.

I once witnessed an Imam punch the spark out of a child because he was fighting.

As you can imagine, I don’t trust anyone in a religious frock.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for all religions, after all I was born Muslim, converted to Catholicism, became a pagan and a part time Wiccan and an atheist. Now? I’m just me.

It’s not nice to have to question yourself because of a choice made for you when you were born.

The divorce became a dirty little secret that no one was allowed to know about.

If asked, I had to tell everyone that dad was away on business, when, in class and church we were thought that the truth would set you free.

I started doubting everything, even the things that I was once sure of. It’s hard when one of your parents asks you to lie and what made things more distressing was when the other told you to tell the truth. I was loyal to both and confused. Who do I listen to, and whose actions would be best for me? I didn’t want anyone to talk about my family or feel sorry for me. In the long run I wish I had just told the truth from the word go!

Add to the fact that I lived in a country where there were a lot of prejudice people at the time and it didn’t help matters that, I was of the nationalities they hated most in that period of time, making my most susceptible years a conflict beyond what I could have imagined.

It was hard enough trying not to blame myself for my parent’s divorce, my mothers drinking, I also had to fight the feelings that there was something wrong with me because of where I came from, my religion and the onset of puberty.

I was a mess.

To show how bad the feelings of prejudice were; I remember my guitar teacher, who was a middle aged man who seemed quite refined, until he opened his mouth. I was about seven and was trying my best, my mum sitting in the room, watching with pride and fascination. However, every time my little finger struck a wrong note he kept looking at my mother, ‘see what I mean? All Arabs are donkeys.’ It didn’t matter that my mother was Italian and I was blonde with blue eyes.

It was continuous throughout the lesson.

In the end my mother piped up, gave him a piece of her mind and we left.

As you can imagine, I never went back.

That was a recurring theme until I was thirteen, that’s when we moved countries.

It was in my last year that I started telling people about my parents. The kids at the school were shocked, but they gathered round me in support, I’m still friends with some of them. I could tell by the look on the adults faces that they saw me as something alien. They gave me all the ‘it’s not your fault’ spiel, but they also kept their distance.

At the same time I managed to get my mother to lose the habit. During a heated argument she wished I had never been born, which really hurt, I wished her dead and ran off for nearly twenty four hours in retaliation. It was summer in a hot country, so I spent the night wondering around the beach, it was a safe country with a crime rate of zero. I returned home because I was tired and hungry. She was worried and suffering of a guilty conscience, so much so that she had cleared out the bottle cabinets and for the first time we talked, about everything, from her feelings and how it made me feel to see her in that state. She never really gave up drinking, but now it’s recreational and not out of depression or self deprecation. I felt like an adult that day, I was being taken seriously and my mother realised, by my actions, that I wasn’t having a childish tantrum, if she continued on that path, one day I might not return home. But there was always that ‘keep it in the family’ thing. If a child couldn’t talk to an outside source, how would they ever learn to trust people and open up?

It’s only when I came to London and met people with similar experiences that I started to feel at ease with myself. Having divorced parents wasn’t a scandal, your origins didn’t matter as long as they liked you. However, the damage had been done, I was a bit of a recluse, not very good at being social and suspicious of people and their motives. It’s still hard to let people in, I don’t want anymore heartache and not many people know this part of me. My partner is one of a handful of people who knows my story.

I am happy with myself and comfortable in my skin, I am who I am through what I’ve experienced and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I look at my children and realise, had it not been for all this trauma, they wouldn’t be here, my life could have gone a very different way. There are times I see myself in them; the insecurities and belief that they are not good enough, that’s when I’m there to reassure them that they are amazing people, regardless, I try to make them see the best in themselves. Your first teachers are your parents and I’m sure you still have their voices in your head as you try to make a decision. The parent I lived with was full of suspicions and of an old fashioned mentality, which is something I do not want pass on to my children.

Okay, so it ended up being a bit about the children, so I told a white lie. After all, everything that we have experienced gets transmitted as words of wisdom to our children, it might not always go in, but at least we have tried.

Last but not least

Every now and again I have spoken about one of my children in particular and in this post I’m going to do just that.My youngest child is so sweet and tender.

I don’t know how else to start this.

She’s not comfortable around people she doesn’t know, she tends to hide and tells them ‘away’ whilst putting her hand up. Which always gets a chuckle.

When she gets to know someone and likes them, then she’s the happiest soul you could ever meet, wanting to spend as much time as possible with this person and holding their hand.

Like every child she loves to play.

She has taken to a doll house bought for her from a charity shop. Her sisters, being somewhat jealous of their stuff (depending on their mood) wouldn’t let her play with theirs. Now she does the same to them when they try to play with her house. She will sit with it for hours, making up her own games and she’s only twenty-two months old, it has chairs and people and you can see her brain ticking as she tries to sit them down and pretends to make them eat. 

I am fascinated by her.

I’ve heard this term and I like it so I’m going to use it to describe her: she’s placid.

In the sense that when we go out, she’ll sit in her buggy and won’t make a fuss.

We like going for coffee ( we love our coffee, but that is for another time), our favourite place being Starbucks (I can hear some groans). The staff are friendly and the coffee is not too bad.

When we enter, she runs to the back for a highchair, allows herself to be put in and asks for her bobob ba (that means chocolate bar) and shuish (juice) and that is her content whilst we have our coffee and relax before the school runs begin. Sometimes we might take a pad and some paper and there is nothing in the world that can stop her from drawing.

She’s crafty, patient and smart.

I was observing her as she played around her sisters. They had the large Lego blocks out and next to my fourth was the train. My youngest wanted it, but her sister stopped her from taking it.

Instead of fighting for it, she withdrew to the couch, crying that it was hers.

She watched her sisters and once their backs were turned, she snuck over on her tip toes and nabbed it.

It took a couple of minutes for my fourth to realise what had happened and looked at her younger sister in dismay. I could see from her face what was coming and it did….

‘DAAAAAADDDDDYYYYYY!!!!’

Daddy was nowhere to be seen because he was too busy hiding whilst laughing his head off.

The nicest thing is that my older children dote on her. Even after that event, had it been another sibling, it would have ended in a fight,instead, she went up to the baby, who had dismantled the train by that point and fixed it for her, allowing her to ‘choo choo’ around the living room.

She’s also very good when it comes to bed time. She asked for her milk, allows you to lead her up to bed and won’t make a fuss. The only time she doesn’t is when she’s teething or not well. She finds it hard to settle at that point. I’ve had her ask me to take her to bed when she’s tired.

My third is the only one who would do something like that. The only difference is; my youngest takes my hand and says ‘bye bye, bed.’ Instead my third used to sit at the bottom of the stairs crying (some things haven’t changed).

She likes cuddles. She will sit next to me on the couch watching Peppa Pig, snuggle up and relax.

My favourite thing to do with any of my girls.

There are many teachers and carers for her. Her elder sister always keep one eye open for her, making sure she doesn’t get up to any mischief or go near anything she shouldn’t. They stop her going up the stairs and help her up when she falls.

It’s like watching the three brothers in Legends of the Fall (if you haven’t seen it, you are missing out). The way they look after their little brother even when they’ve all grown up.

It’s how I see my girls being with the youngest. She will always have this security blanket over her.

For one so young, she’s also very polite. She’s full of please and thank yous, or peease chan chu (it’s how she pronounces them).

Another lovely trait of hers is she’s very caring and considerate, she asks you if you’re okay, she cuddles you when you are sick or hurt and she willingly shares, as much as a child of her age can, she will offer a piece of her chocolate to her sisters and smiles when she knows she has done something nice.

What I hope is that as she grows older, she doesn’t change. She’s an old fashioned soul in a young body. I know life gets in the way and some people lose themselves. I really pray she doesn’t.

What does it mean to be a dad? (To me anyway)

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a dad.Not in general, but to me.

Being a parent to one or many kids is no easy feat.

So, let’s take away the nappy changes, late feeds and sick children and talk about what it means to be a dad for me. Those things are meant to be the norm in our day and age, fathers should be more proactive when it comes to their children. Long gone are the days when dads would go to work, come home, sit and wait for their dinner whilst mum did everything.

Let me be honest about one thing, I’ve never felt fear like this in my life. There’s this niggling thing at the back of my head that wants to wrap my kids in bubble wrap so that nothing can happen to them, smother them and keep them in-doors so that they will never get emotionally hurt.

However, I have to hold back and let them live their lives, because without those scars and bruises they will never develop. I see danger around every corner, I look at everything twice and any activity that involves a fraction of danger, even though I’ve done them myself as a child, I don’t want them to do it.

I have to refrain myself from saying no, I make myself look back and think if I would have done it and would I do it now had I not the responsibility.

This is the biggest and scariest adventure of my life and I’m enjoying every minute of it.

From the moment they are born, things have changed, for the better.

There is nothing in the world I’d exchange being a dad for.

I finally understand when my dad said that richness does not come from wealth but from your children and how you raise them, the values you teach them and the love they reciprocate.

I want to do for them what couldn’t be done for me.

My dad had to leave when I was quite young and for many different reasons. I didn’t get to see much of him. He has always been there when I needed him but I missed his presence and the many things I should have done with him.

In a way, it’s something I’m trying to make up for with my children. With the limited time I do have, I try to do things with them, but it never feels enough and time just slips away. I am trying to build memories, because as I grow older and life gets in their way, when they think of me, they will have memories of things we’ve done and not about things I’ve bought.

Which, for the little time I’ve had with him, it’s what I have with my father. The trips to the office, trying to teach me about networking, the lunches (just the two of us), going for a drive and going to the beach. And we still do some of those things when I see him.

I don’t remember the colour shoes or brands that were bought for me, only what we did.

This, to me, is part of being a dad, building a bond that they can look back on with fondness. So, when the weather is nice in this mad country, I try to take them for a walk or to the park. We go for meals, it’s not the most pleasant experience with five children, but we still do it.

Confidence in themselves is another thing I try to teach them.

It’s rich coming from someone who hasn’t got much him self. I’m shy, quiet and reserved, which can be misconstrued as rudeness, but it’s something I’m working on because I want my children to believe that they can be whatever they want and to achieve their goals, they need to be confident in themselves. It’s something my dad has in abundance, but I don’t resent it, I like who I am.

My lack of confidence comes from my mother. She has these strong opinions about everything and you can’t contradict them. As I grew up I realised that a lot of them were either wrong or very very old fashioned. For example: one of my children suffers from nose bleeds and she quickly jumped to the conclusion that it had to be polips, even after we looked it up and spoke to the doctor, she still went on about it. It took me a couple of weeks to convince her otherwise.

I started out having these opinions but on many occasions I got shut down by my piers and realised that I had to know what I was talking about before offering my two pence. That’s when I became silent and listened, I researched and decided that before I speak I have to have my facts right. If I don’t know, I am more than happy not to say anything, instead of making something up.

They are learning that being alone doesn’t mean that they are lonely, only that they want ‘me time’, which can be a good thing because they learn to listen to their thought and form ideas of their own.

They are making up their own opinions on their beliefs, society and religion. We encourage them to speak but try to reserve any strong opinion that we have formed, either through nurture or experience. 

We don’t speak much about religion because we want them to form their own opinion and choose their own path. I will support them regardless, even if it goes against every fibre of my being.

Education is very important to me, I want them to go to university and do something meaningful with their lives. However, not everyone is cut out for it, some people are better with their hands and I have to accept that maybe that could be one of my children, if not all.

I graduated six years ago to show them that it didn’t matter how old you are, there is always time to make a change and to make something of your life.

Am I doing the right thing?

I don’t know!

Now you can see why I’m afraid?

What if I fail in these things?

I can only try my best I guess.

They are not things that I have expressed many times in the open, but now it’s out there for the world to see.

I want my children to be happy, proud of their parents and of themselves and that is my main objective as a father.

The joys of driving and technology

I want to take a minute away from parenting and stories about my children to talk about drivers in general and technology.And no this is not going to be one of those ‘I hate technology lets got back to being cave-people thing’.

In the last few months I have been a close witness to some serious accidents.

The first was a nurse who drove her car into a parked vehicle at high velocity destroying everything in her path.

Her car had to be towed away.

Luckily she was unhurt, just shocked.

There, a few yards away, was a man walking along taking pictures of the wreckage.

The second was a child being hit by a car whilst the child was crossing the road.

I was stuck and couldn’t go anywhere for a while and in that time people were going to see what happened. I couldn’t bring myself to go down when I heard it was a child.

The child had to be airlifted to hospital.

People were taking pictures of the incident, the helicopter or talking in whispers on their phones.

The third one was today.

Two cars collided and the front bumper of one had totally collapsed on itself. The police were in attendance and from the look of things no one was hurt but a woman was crying from the shock of the situation.

I could see people videoing whilst driving past.

Every day I witness people driving whilst texting or talking on their phones.

Every day I have to use my horn because they are coming into my lane too engrossed in their little bubble.

Which means that I am close to being in a serious accident every time I’m on the road.

There have been countless adverts and programs on television about this and endless videos on YouTube about the dangers of driving whilst using a devise.

Why keep doing it?

Do drivers feel so invulnerable in their vehicles that they don’t believe anything will happen to them? Are they so important and above the law that they don’t care?

I don’t feel like I can ever let my children go to school alone, not because I don’t trust them, but because I don’t trust other road users.

Is this unfair of me, am I being over critical?

Is it normal to think so far ahead to the day my girls want to learn to drive and the technology becoming more and more addictive that I would rather they use public transport than having to deal with the dangers, or being a danger on the road?

(Wow, that was a long sentence!)

I don’t want that call in the middle of the night to tell me that something has happened to my child.

The thought of it…. Unbearable!

As a society, we have become very engaged with our little devices and I’m not innocent by any means. You see it all the time, people walking around with their noses in the technology forgetting to look at the world around them.

Things don’t seem to be witnessed by the eye anymore, but more and more by the technology.

Unless it’s on a screen it doesn’t seem worth admiring anymore.

I have to remind myself to look up and around and I do try to make a conscious effort not to keep my eyes fixed on these screens all around me.

Having digressed into a rant I go back to my original theme.

Everyone has done it.

You drive along, your phone beeps or buzzes or…whatever yours does, and like an instinct you jump to see what it is, or answer that call and you veer off track, but by some miracle you manage to regain your concentration and avoid, by a slight margin, what could have been a bad accident.

Or, being so engrossed in the conversation, the road is crossed without looking when all of a sudden, looking up, there’s a big red bus an inch from your nose. Wow, how did that happen?

I’m not downing technology. The fact that all kind of information is at the finger tip is amazing.

However, it is nice, every so often, to look up and to watch the world through ones own eyes.

As Khalil Gibran said in one of his book:

Memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.

Rewards and the battery charge

Is it right to allow your child to do the activity they have been harking after when they have been at their worst behaviour?I am in agreement if you have said ‘no’.

Let me put it another way.

What if it means that they are away from the house for the weekend and you have one less screaming child to deal with, which would make your life easier?

Still ‘no’?

Can any other parent relate to what I’ve just said?

We are having some behavioural issues at the moment and it’s not specific to one child.

It might be due to the fact that it’s coming up to the end of the scholastic year and they are tired and they want the break or they need the break and the holidays don’t seem to be coming up fast enough for them.

Could it be that the situation is not aided by the fact that I have two children that cannot fall asleep when there is daylight out?

And trust me when I say that I have taken them to the park for a few hours, they were so tired that they didn’t want to walk home and still…come bed time, they would not fall asleep until it was dark outside.

What makes things worse is that they are up between six and half seven, none of them nap during the day and they are cranky by four in the afternoon.

So, let’s take a look at the picture:

I have a preschooler that will not fall asleep before ten and is up by half six. That is eight hours per night if we are lucky, which is borderline with the last column which recommends ‘no less than…’

Then, there’s the schoolchild that has a similar sleeping pattern, however, she tries to keep her other sisters awake.

Here is where the issue comes in:

Two children who can’t sleep when there is daylight are in bed, they are causing a raucous and talking so much that they keep their other sisters awake who want to sleep.

If I take into consideration that everyone is different and require different amounts of sleep, I shouldn’t worry about the two that can’t sleep.

Which, in a small way, I don’t because they do have a sleep-in every so often, which I guess makes up for their lack of.

It’s the other two I worry about.

They want to sleep and cannot because they are not allowed and when they manage to fall asleep, they tend to get woken up or disturbed in some way or other. They end up waking up tired and cranky in the morning.

I hear you say; why, they should be separated…

I wish I could. It’s harder than expected to move, so whilst we’re stuck in this place, they have to share a room.

Now come the behavioural issues, tired from a long school year, activities and now we have lack of sleep.

Think about yourself as an adult, if you go a few days with little sleep you feel like you are dying, you are moody and God help anyone that looks or says something the wrong way that they’ll have their head bitten off.

We, as adults, have supposedly learnt to control our outbursts….

Yeah, okay. 

Tired is tired.

I don’t know of many things worse than being tired and not catching a break to rest and recharge the batteries.

Now, imagine being of an age where you are not capable of controlling your emotions or express yourself properly, add lack of sleep and some fatigue and try not to explode.

So I now have four screaming children with one of them due to go away for the weekend.

If I was the ‘no nonsense’ parent, she wouldn’t have gone and I would have suffered the miserable face and the looks of recriminations, let’s not forget the tears and tantrums.

Behaviour does not merit reward and blah blah blah….

Why did you have so many kids if you can’t cope and all that.

I heard that so many times, but it’s the hand life has dealt us and we cope, well.

It’s surprising to see how many people compliment us on our family and how well behaved they can be.

This is just a point where us adults, whether we have one or ten children need to feel like ourselves.

Also, we are so weary and tired that the idea of having one less screaming child in the house sounded like a reward to us!

Is that so wrong?

Whilst many people having their child out is considered a break, for us, just one helps us recharge our batteries.

Was it so wrong to send her after all?

Maybe this little break will help the children as well and we can all feel a bit more like our old selves.

Taking tonight for example; the other children went to bed and fell asleep right away. There was no noise from upstairs and checking up on them, they were sound asleep getting their beauty sleep and hopefully they will wake up refreshed

Shows, tantrums and pride

Sunday evening I went to see my first and third daughters in a show they did with their Theatre Train (TT) group. I took my second with me, who was very excited.It was annoying that we couldn’t take pictures or videos of the performance but that was by-the-by, especially when I saw that the staff was standing by the aisles, torches in hand, shining it in the face of anyone who was trying to be smart.

The atmosphere was tense and it could be cut with a knife. The audience that was filled with friends and family must have been more nervous than the children.

I know I was.

Then, the curtains came up and the show began.

My daughter sitting next to me jumped in excitement.

Some of the children came on stage and the show began. My seat was fairly decent even though I had a huge hair bun from the seat in front blocking some of my view.

The curtains came up and the scene was set. The older group did their bit, then the rest of them came on.

There was my eldest, happy, proud and giving it her all. She knew the words to the songs and danced to the choreography without having to look at her friends.

My daughter and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Everyone left the stage and along came the TT minis being held by hand in a row by some of the older kids.

‘Hi!’ They said in unison.

And amongst them was my third. She looked nervous and was looking around for anyone she recognised.

I waved, but the bun was in the way.

She did her bit, then was taken off stage.

A couple more songs were sung to the theme of Friendship and the minis came out again with their ‘hi!’

My daughter was hiding behind one of the older kids.

Oh no, she was tired and cranky.

The other kids did their lines and she didn’t speak when it was her turn.

It was the longest few seconds of silence I had ever experienced.

We had our interval and the show started once more.

They did a few more songs and then my eldest came out on her own.

She did a little introduction then started her scene.

I was enthralled and her sister was in awe.

She had a small lead and she was performing like a professional actress.

She did not miss a cue and she knew all her lines even though she was not allowed to bring them home.

The minis came out once more and I braced myself.

She wasn’t hiding this time, but she still didn’t look happy.

They started talking and this time she said her lines…

Sorry, let me correct myself, she whispered her lines.

I was glad she had moved her lips.

The whole lot of TT came out with cardboard instruments and front centre of was my eldest giving it all she had like a real rock star.

Then came the final song.

TT and the minis came out. My youngest on stage still didn’t look happy, but when she realised what song it was, that it had been played countless times at home, she started singing dancing and jumping like nothing had happened during the whole performance. She had lost herself in this performance and my happy girl was back.

They took their bow as the audience frantically applauded their children and the lady that runs the program came out to give her speech and give her thanks.

She was happy and proud of her students and teaching staff.

Then the magic words came out of her mouth, ‘ you can pic your children up outside the doors of the auditorium.’

We all rushed out, it was half eight in the evening and smiling, the children came out, tired yet beaming.

TT had been there since half ten in the morning and the minis since two in the afternoon, rehearsing for their show.

All I had for my kids was praise, I felt like the proudest dad in the world. I’m sure all the other parents felt the same.

My mini is used to going to bed by half six, seven the latest, so to be up an extra hour and a half and to perform the way she did was a great accomplishment.

She’s the type of child to be sitting on the couch, relaxing, by half five, so even with her little silent tantrum, I was incredibly proud of her.

I was amazed by my eldest, she committed at everything she does, but to be given such a big role and to perform it so well shows what hard work can achieve.

Normally, TT shows are preformed at big theatres in London, like the Palladium, with other factions round the country, but this year it was only our lot in a local theatre so that the minis could perform as well.

It was a sort of experiment because they had only started the minis last year and I do believe it went better than expected.

I love seeing my children perform, but this was amazing and to see my TT perform so well that it seemed effortless was out of this world.

I do hope they do it again and my for my mini to perform like she did during the last song.

And here is song they sang as a finale:

https://youtu.be/YPQyd_kELVw