The Stupidest Things I Have Thought as a Parent

Well I'm glad that phase is over 
Like Glen Close rising from the bathtub that horrible behaviour will resurface once again. When you're least expecting it.

I'm glad my child isn't like that one.
Yeah, your time will come. Whatever horrible behaviour you witness on the playground your child is sure to indulge in it at some point usually timed for maximum embarrassment.

If the kids weren't around I'd get so much done. 
Oh really? Have a long hard look at your pre-child life, when you had time and sleep and sanity. Did you really get that much done? Did you? Even now when my kids aren't around I get chuff all done; I'm usually grappling a particularly aggressive hangover if they're away for the weekend and if it's midweek I spend my time buying shit for them that they don't need. 

Well, don't we all look smart
Even the act of thinking this ensures that within 10 seconds one of the kids will be face down in a puddle whilst the other one wipes his nose on the back of my dress... and like a fool I thought I would risk a dry clean only number. Dammit. 

Aw, I'll just go and check if they've settled.
No! It's a trap! This one really only holds for the first 3 years of a child's life, but what a 3 years it is. First there's the 'Oh god, they've stopped breathing' phase, followed by the refusing to be put down phase, followed by the limpet like grip on your hand phase, followed by the waking up and singing every time they hear a floorboard creak phase, followed by the mummy sitting on the stairs drinking gin and quietly weeping phase. I think at this point evolution kicks in and they realise they're not going to make it to adulthood if they keep pulling this shit, so things tend to calm down a bit. (At least it did for us, if you're still going through this I salute you. *pours gin on the floor in libation.)

Is that safe?  The second you think this, idly watching them in the playground, you can guarantee at least one of them will end up spread-eagled in the mud with a top lip swelling up like a Kardashian's. 

We're not doing anything fancy for their party this year. It will be very low key. 
There is no such thing as a low key children's party. If you place over 10 children together, offer an activity like karaoke or trampolining and sprinkle on huge amounts of sugar there will be stress and chaos. It's like putting on a fireworks display inside the church hall. It might look pretty but it costs a fortune and everything will be ruined by the end. 

[In the supermarket] I'm sure we're fine for snacks
You are NEVER fine for snacks. They are ravenous beasts whose hunger cannot be contained. Always buy more snacks. 

[In the supermarket] I'm sure we're fine for wine
Ditto

"Everything's Rosie, everything's Ro-ho-ho-sie, everything's fun when your friends are around." 
Out of all the children's theme tunes this is the absolute worst. Oh god, I've done it again. Now I've summoned it, this will be all I can think for the next 72 hours. Help me. Heeeellllp meee.

Subversions

I hate toys. I hate them as they spread all over every surface in my house, I hate them when they bleep and chirp and blare at me from hidden corners, I hate them when they embed themselves in the soft flesh of my foot at five o'clock in the morning. I hate them to breadth and depth my soul can reach. Sadly, like an unstable pelvic floor they come as part of the 'having kids' package, so over the years I have found ways to subvert them for my own amusement. I have given myself little windows of adult pleasure* to stave off the insanity that this mounting tide of plastic carries with it.

It started small. Just mild changes in how each set was put together. This is now the couple who live in our Playmobil house with their daughter. This little change made me happy. 

In fairness to Playmobil they do already offer a pleasingly diverse population of toys and is reassuringly gender neutral without trying too hard. I'm sure the makers had every expectation that there would be plastic gay couples living plastic lives in their plastic houses. 

But it wasn't enough. I've started making up little scenes of my own once the kids have gone to bed. Sometimes my couple don't get on very well.

Sometimes I imagine one has been left, heartbroken and bereft, so she ended it all, only to be eaten by her beloved pets.

Others are just impossible to avoid, just like this bus.

Playmobil was just the start. 

Making a not-so-human centipede out of those puppet books is immensely satisfying and also an excellent way of storing them. 

Look at Dudley's eyes. It's like he understands. I don't know why this makes me happy but it does. 

As a busy mum I don't have time to write slash fic so sometimes little scenes like this will suffice. 

There was something very pleasing about reenacting the final scene of Fatal Attraction using bunnies. 

Honestly people, this is an excellent way to make the constant tidying of minuscule pieces of plastic bearable. Now, where did the kids put Thor's hammer? I feel a scene from Misery coming on...

*not like that. (Well, sometimes like that. Falcon really does have an exceptional arse for a piece of plastic.) 

Awakening

It's time for me to talk about The Force Awakens. I have never felt such a powerful sense of relief that someone else's labour of love had come off so perfectly. It's so good. It's so so good. I've taken my time processing why I love it so much and how much it has fundamentally altered the way I look at all films now. It was only when I was watching this scene in the Phineas and Ferb Star Wars special with my kids last night that everything came into focus; I had an awakening, just like Rey when she's in that wood fighting Kylo Ren.

The Force Awakens is so good it makes everything that came before it look bad. I love Phineas and Ferb, it has no fewer than 3 female characters with strong identities and diverse interests (OK it's still less that 50% of the cast but it's better than most kids programmes that aren't specifically targeting girls). It appeals to my inherently nerdy ways and is very very funny. Hell, I've laughed at this specific song numerous times but since my Awakening I started to question it. Really guys, why are the storm trooper dancers sexy girls? Is that necessary? Prior to The Force Awakens I would probably have said a begrudging yes, for the sake of the musical pastiche, sexy backing dancers are necessary. I have now sat through 90 minutes of excellent cinema that proves this utterly wrong. You don't need to do things the way they've always been done. Those dancers could be male or female, they don't need to have shapely calves and tiny waists for this scene to work. It doesn't have to be so reductive. For chrissake, Britain's Got Talent proved that just this week. 

It's not good but it does help my case

My favourite scene is the one with Finn, Phasma and Han. Rey is off, busy getting things done, and three characters have a conversation and the strong white male is just the comic relief. Han is extraneous to the plot - it is the relationship between Finn and Phasma that counts in this scene. Once this shift in perspective has been seen it can't be unseen. I am constantly finding myself watching things on TV and in films and thinking "Why should I care what the white guy thinks? I'd much rather know what the other browner/blacker/x chromosome-ier character's take on this is."  We all know Leia's story is so much more dramatic, emotional and resonant than the whiny farm boy's but no, in 1977 we focused on Luke because we were used to thinking people like him are important. I am so happy that it's only taken 38 years for this to change.

There are so many interesting woman characters in The Force Awakens. Captain Phasma is my current favourite - because she's a baddie but not the baddie. Women in films are usually only shown as superlatives, they are the best or the worst they can be. Sometimes, like in The Heat, they are both at the same time. Women on film are expected to be exceptional. There are very few women mid-level managers. Phasma is a woman just doing her job, and crucially, she's not doing it very well. She misses that one of her troops is no longer on mission. She gets captured by the goodies and submits to their demands. I can't think of another female character who doesn't do her job very well specifically as part of the plot. Female villains are brilliant at what they do until they plunge to their doom/get impaled/meet whatever poetically just end they deserve.

Women on film who are not good at their job are usually like this because the part was badly written, not because it's part of the plot. Often a part for a woman is dictated by what the character looks like rather than her personality.* In the extras for Jurassic World Bryce Dallas Howard talks about having training in order to be able to run in heels. WHAT? What woman does not remove her heels when running away from dinosaurs, especially when her plan is specifically to run away from dinosaurs? They trained a woman to act this stupid. They put effort into ensuring that she would create a good silhouette rather than anything like a coherent character-based sense of self-preservation. It is an excellent film but those heels kicked the suspension of disbelief right out of me. 

So after time has passed and I've allowed this film to nestle into my heart I just want to say a huge thanks to JJ Abrams and his team for my Awakening. I'm off to watch it again. 

* Check out the timeline of the fabulous @proresting on twitter for more on this

Aim Low

I have a new catchphrase: "aim low, be happy". Last weekend we did just that - we had an utterly relaxed day with no expectations and we managed to have a fantastic time. We took in two parks, fed some fish, had a nice meal out and there was only one mild eruption of fury in the whole time - more of a spurt than an eruption really. We didn't have any goals and we seem to have achieved so much more than usual. The boy got to ride his bike, the feral one got to climb all of the things, the man got his new trousers and I achieved my 10,000 steps which made my Fitbit very happy. 

We went to Gadebridge Park for the first time (though it's been on my list for 3 years) and it was great. The largest male went off in search of trousers and us three smaller ones had a lovely time together. There was a minor skirmish about an ice cream van but I threatened that we would not be going to the park at all for the entire summer if they nagged for ice cream now, which shut them up nicely. I am glad they are still gullible enough to fall for this - short of cryogenically freezing them, there would be no way to make it through the summer without parks; it was the emptiest of threats. Anyway, Gadebridge has a really nice selection of equipment, with some stuff I remember from my childhood all the way through to that hard plastic stuff that looks like set dressing from Mad Max. It's a palimpsest of a playground. It also has lovely smooth paths for cycling, excellent for my fledgling non-pedestrian. It's also beautiful; well landscaped with a great view of the old town. It's hard to believe you're in Hemel Hempstead.

When the betrousered one returned we went to Burston's Garden Centre and, thanks to the unexpected sunshine, we had a proper explore and discovered a whole new pond out the back with fish to feed. They clearly don't get fed as often as the fish in the front as they were crap at actually swallowing the food. This caused much excitement and hilarity. I like having children that are of an age where I only semi-worry that they are going to plunge themselves headfirst into murky, fishy waters. It was nice for the littlest one to actually be the expert here too. She knew what the animals were before the boy could read a label at her and she was able to pour scorn most effectively when he mistook the crickets for pets rather than food. It was nice to see the tables turned for once. The boy took it in good humour - I think the lingering threat that she may release a snake on him kept him in check. Also, the animals were all delightfully frisky this time, normally they lurk in their plastic burrows sullenly sleeping, but there they were all slithering and flicking tongues and climbing the walls of their tanks. Good stuff reptiles, well done. I try not to think too hard about the ethics of keeping you in captivity like this.* 

We polished the day off at a Harvester and it was great. There was a minor hiccup as the husband, in a fit of madness, ordered starters to 'tide us over until the mains arrive', causing me to look at him owlishly and enquire exactly how long he thinks it takes to reheat processed food. Also, why he would order starters that both children took delight in turning their noses up at? Luckily the salad bar allowed them to have somewhat eclectic starters of their own. Raisins and red peppers anyone? When the bitching and whining did start we stayed true to the ethos of 'aim low' and whipped out the iPhones. Glorious silence until the food arrived. I really bloody enjoyed my ribs and judging by the plates everyone else enjoyed their food too. The only bad bit was when the other adult and I got a bit giddy with the weird drinks machine and drank far too much fizzy pop. Mind you, this came to a crunching halt when I excitedly poured myself a glass of what was allegedly apple tango with a hint of lime but which actually tasted exactly like the smell of pub toilet cleaner. You know, the smell you get if you go into a pub first thing in the morning**; the one that grabs the back of your throat and pulls it through your eye sockets. Yeah, I drank that smell. 

The kids started to unravel a bit at this point so we cut our losses and headed for home. As we were passing, we stopped for a bit at Leavesden Country Park - but I won't go into that too much here as I'll probably cover this place in a Days Out post at some point. Suffice it to say there was swinging and cycling and the processing of much processed food. It left us all pleasantly exhausted and ready for a chilled out evening. The kids had ice lollies whilst watching endless episodes of Phineas and Ferb and we stared vacantly at our iPhones. It was ace. 

Sometimes no plan is the best plan of all. 

*Luckily there was a chameleon bimbling about and it was awesome enough to quash all of my vague moral qualms. 

** Happy pre-kids days 

Ironing is a feminist issue

I think one of the best decisions of my adult life was to eschew the iron. When I was a teenager this was my chore* and I didn't mind it too much. I could whack on Heathers for the umpteenth time and recite it merrily to myself as I smoothed the shirts. It beat scrubbing floors or dusting which left me with chipped nails and a snotty nose. Therefore it's clearly not the actual chore itself I dislike, it's more that, as I age and care less about what people think of me, I have decided I don't like the whole concept of ironing. 

I am convinced that the idea of ironing is tied up with a sense of public shaming. At least the arbitrary rules of etiquette were put in place to try and help people get along. Ironing benefits no one. It is an arbitrary construct, tied up with ideas of class, success and respectability. Prior to the invention of the washing machine and electric iron, how well pressed a man's shirt was indicated the state of his home and his marriage. Ironing is a hark back to the days where you blacked your step, ironed your clothes and stayed trapped in a loveless or abusive marriage for fear of what the neighbours would say. It is the epitome of respectability. 

My wardrobe is respectably full of breton tops, Boden shirts and skinny jeans; the standard 'mum uniform' - but I stress that none of them are ironed. Ever. During my transitional phase I tried to buy clothes that wouldn't crease. Nowadays I buy what I like and hang it up to dry - if it's creased, fuck it; it only looks like it would after I'd been wearing it for half an hour anyway. There have been no snarky comments - not to my face at any rate, I have not lost friends due to my crumpled state, it has not hampered me entering any establishment I want to enjoy. Not ironing my clothes has made not one discernible difference to my life. 

I appreciate it's nice to put on a freshly ironed cotton shirt, still gently wafting that freshly laundered scent, the warmth of it like a lover's caress, but then I feel properly glum when I besmirch it with coffee or croissant crumbs or whatnot minutes later.** An unironed shirt is a proactive statement that benefits my life, a spoiled one makes me feel like a failure. A creased shirt is kinder, the myriad micro-shadows created by all the crinkles can hide a multitude of sins. I feel under less pressure to behave when my clothes are already relaxed and, quite frankly, I'm sick of behaving myself. 

It's not even like eschewing this chore has freed me up to complete more worthwhile tasks. In our house ironing has always been my husband's domain. He wants ironed shirts for work far more often than I ever did so the burden of making bumpy things smooth has always fallen to him. It's just I no longer hand him my clothes to be ironed now. I just wear them when I want to wear them. Sometimes he irons my stuff anyway and I have a vision of what it must have been like to be a middle class man in the 1920s. It's heady stuff, I can tell you. 

Not ironing my clothes is part of my brand of feminism. I am not dressing for anyone but myself. I do not dress for the male gaze and i do not dress for the female gaze that is filtered through a patriarchal prism - both of which say how I appear is more important than what I do, say or am. Anyone who is distracted by my slightly rumpled shirt probably wasn't really listening to me in the first place. 

*It will be my kids' too - ironing fosters contemplation, meditation and keeps the buggers in one place

**I will concede that I often think Pigpen from the Peanuts comics is my spirit animal. 

Comedy in the Yurt

In the wilds of St Albans you can find Comedy in the Yurt in the Blacksmith's Arms on the last Wednesday of every month. It features up and coming comedians, a lovely local audience and an unusual performance space bedecked with fairy lights and a pot plant. It beats most of the dingy cellars comedians tend to frequent, but bear in mind it is an unheated yurt; bring a blanket and you're guaranteed a good night out. 

On the night of 27th April the yurt was impressively full, despite the apocalyptic weather raging just the other side of a thin sheet of canvas. The crowd seemed cold but happy and MC Lee Wilson managed to build a good atmosphere making jokes with the locals and greeting newcomers by name. It really is a very friendly night. 

The evening kicked off with Nigel Lovell who gave us an affable set with plenty of word play and his local knowledge endearing him to the crowd. Fiona Ridgewell got lots of laughs with her take on other people's kids and her personal grooming routine (or lack thereof). Jack Brooks had some lovely material early on in his set but his nerves seemed to get in the way of him building a rapport with the audience which left things quite flat. I doubt this was his finest performance. 

The second half started strong with a pleasingly filthy take on the ageing process from Sandra Hale.This was followed by a fine performance from Yuriko Kotani with her wry observations on the idiosyncrasies of British life. She has a delightfully skewed view on the world and knows just when to drop the F bomb for maximum effect. Rounding out the night was Dave Green who managed a lull in enthusiasm (possibly due to frostbite) and won the crowd back on side with some well crafted jokes and breezy self confidence. The set itself was quite mixed, with surreal stuff sitting alongside observations on everyday life and even a bit of 'poetry' but it was a lot of fun throughout. 

Comedy in the Yurt is a great night out with a friendly, loyal audience. Just remember to wear your thermal underwear.

Bully for you

I keep reading in inspirational letters, often addressed to newborn children, that their bullies will peak at 16 and lead miserable lives later on thereby allowing them to have the satisfaction of a long tail victory. This is bullshit and it makes me angry. 

My secondary school bullies are respectively a tv director, a graphic designer, a midwife and the best mother I know.* None of them lies wasted in a crack den. And none of them deserve to. Wishing someone a life of misery because they lacked empathy at 15 years old is not pleasant. What those girls were at 15 has in no way defined who they are as adults. I appreciate that such a highfalutin list of jobs probably has a lot to do with the fact that i went to a convent school (nominally a state school, but it was basically a minor public school but with an added moral high ground) but even if every single one of them had gone on to work in Poundland or for Gazprom it would not be due to who they were at 15. 

It is not a victory to have a better life now than you had then. It is simply the way things shake out. As you grow older you can try to make your life work for you. You have more agency, more control and a good deal more understanding of how things work. We all make choices. We find the life that makes us happy or learn to live within one that can't, for myriad reasons. Life offers so many challenges and difficulties and opportunities to each and every one of us. It is resilience that makes a successful life - I look at my life and find it successful and I hope I would have the strength to change it if I didn't think that this was the case. I have done in the past. Not everyone is lucky enough to grow up in a environment that allows them to develop resilience. 

Shitty things happen to good people. Shitty things happen to bad people: There are people who were bullied at school who then made bad choices in relationships, in education, in careers who now have a shitty life. Being bullied in school does not give you a free pass to a happy life as an adult. To imply that it does is disingenuous at best, downright insulting at worst. There are children who were bullies in school because what they saw at home left them angry or scared or confused and they only had that model to copy. Their inability to change this is not your victory, it is their tragedy. There are many children who never had the power to choose the direction their life went in, both the bullies and the bullied. 

There are people who were terrible humans at school and became wonderful adults. There are people who were lovely at school and became hardened by what life threw at them and no longer find it safe to be kind. There are people who were terrible at school and remain so. There are people, those happy few, who were lovely at school and remain lovely adults (I'd check their bank balance, it's a lot easier to be this person if you're rich.) 

If you have made a success of your life and your bully didn't, it's worth looking at the other factors involved. Check your privilege. The choice of your bully to work in MacDonalds in their thirties is probably more to do with having been dealt a shitty hand when they were younger than a lack of direction. My mum always told me that my primary school bullies were jealous because I was cleverer than them. Of course I was; my mum stayed at home with me most of the time and read with me and played with me; my parents took me to the theatre, to museums, on international holidays - my life experience gave me a vocabulary and context that allowed me to be clever without having to try too hard. The kids who took the piss out of me for being posh in school got to go on school trips and the occasional trip to the seaside. Some of them will have been studying for their exams in the same room that their parents were fighting in. The deck was stacked against them, not me. Being bullied felt horrible at the time but I know now that I was the lucky one (Also I was insufferably posh for a child growing up in Slough and probably deserved the occasional taking down a peg or two**). It's worth remembering that sometimes the bullies are punching up. 

I would argue that we need to move away from the focus in schools on what to do when you are being bullied and look instead at what is causing children to become bullies. If we want to stop the problem we have to understand it's causes. I think we are moving towards this approach but it is slow progress. The gut instinct to protect the victim rather than understand the perpetrator is strong in all walks of life but prevention is far more effective that post-hoc support. Having said that, when I look at the support offered in my son's school now compared to what I was offered in the eighties, I am glad to see such good progress. Has anyone done a study into the correlation between the rise in tackling bullying in schools and the decrease in alcohol/drug consumption in the younger generation? My gut tells me there's a link, but my gut is rarely research based. 

* I will admit that there are others who don't have such easily recognisable jobs but I will say they are all doing as well as the rest of us even if they do dwell in the murky waters of media sales, HR and whatnot.
** I think the phrase 'a peg or two' would probably have earned me a gentle slap on the playground