Throwback Thursday: Back in 1999

So the other day this popped up in my Facebook news feed, and while this isn't your usual 'Throwback Thursday' post, I really fancied a good old reminisce.

Before I was 'Mom' I was kinda cool. Now I mostly live in badly fitting jeans and old t-shirts I don't bother to replace when they get all saggy, because lets face it, once I'm in the clothing aisle of the supermarket, I'm hunting out cool clothes for the kids or replacing the underwear they've grown out of. I wish I had more time and money to spend on myself, but for now, while the kids are young, I don't and that's life.

Anyhoo, enough of the martyrhood. I thought I'd put together the uniform of my youth for your viewing pleasure. I tried so hard to find an image of the Bloodhound Gang hoodie that I wore for years, but it does not exist, and of course, there are no photos of me because...well...we didn't do that much then did we?

The uniform of my 1999 (all the way up to about 2003).

I still love these clothes. 

The keychain would have to have either your keys or your wallet on the end, tucked into your back pocket. Wannabes who simply clipped it to their beltloops were mocked.

The shoes had to be an acceptable level of battered. New shoes made you look like either a scally (now called a chav) or a wannabe (someone who recently got their Mummy to buy them a whole new wardrobe so they could fit in)

The fact that I still own my keychain and my battered old Buffaloes probably says a lot (pictured above). I attempt to wear the Buffoloes during winter, along with a pair of Vans I still have but having children gave me the hottest feet in the world and aside from twisted socks, there is nothing more annoying than hot feet, so I tend to stick to pumps. I don't need my keychain any more, which used to keep my purse safe in my back pocket but since I now cart round a massive handbag full of cereal bars and receipts, it goes in there. Mr Strawberry however still uses his.

I shall leave you with one of the few photos of me I could find without an ex-boyfriend. Just for fun.

Now please excuse me while I re-evaluate my boring wardrobe....

A Boy or a Girl...Who knows?

I am so torn.

When we were expecting the boys, we found out what we were having as soon as we could, and luckily so because I was convinced Ed was a girl and called him Beth for 5 months. I cried when I found out and I’m glad I had the adjustment time before he arrived, rather than going through 9 months of thinking I was getting the girl I dreamed of and trying to deal with not only a newborn baby but a newborn baby boy.

With Bean, it was important to find out because, being just 16 months apart, I needed to know if I could re-use Ed’s stuff and I was super happy to get another beautiful boy.

Now things are very different.

There are no hand-me-downs.

I honestly don’t care what we get. Now that I’ve hung around with kids a little more I can see the pros and cons of both genders. They both come with joys and difficulties of their own. Boys tend to be noisier whilst girls tend to be talkative, boys tend to have a lot of energy but girls seem to come with a lot of drama.
So, when we found out we were expecting, we originally said we wouldn't find out what it was. Let it be nature's best surprise we thought. But it turns out to be one of the most frustrating withheld truths known to man.

I absolutely love surprises. I am not the person shaking the presents under the Christmas tree. Even when I help my computer illiterate husband to order my present online, I cover the screen until the payment has cleared and I can close the page (I get very annoyed if I fail and accidentally see what it is). And in preparation for our last wedding anniversary a few months ago, I refused to help him order me something and therefore got the basic flowers and chocolates. If it wasn’t going to be a surprise, I didn’t want anything.

But growing a human inside me feels different.

I’d love to have that moment when I’ve given birth and my husband hands me our baby and tells me himself if it’s a boy or a girl.

But I am already sick of calling our beloved growing fetus ‘it’. I've named it Pixel so I can avoid this a little.

Trying to find a unisex pushchair I like is becoming a nightmare.

Everything I want to buy in preparation is so gender orientated these days, even washable nappies come in delightful bright prints, leaving me with the choice of white or…white. And try buying a snowsuit, the gender neutral ones are genuinely disgustingly beige.

Knowing what it is might help us all bond with the unborn baby, especially the boys who are basically dealing with the abstract at the moment. There isn’t even a decent bump for them to stroke. The other night, as we all sat on the sofa digesting our dinner, I suddenly yelped and the boys were very surprised to hear me tell them I could feel the baby wriggling. I was especially surprised because with them I hadn’t felt anything until I was about 17 weeks so I wasn’t expecting to feel anything at all at just 14 weeks. The first thing Ed said was;

“I thought it was a lie baby. That means it’s almost complete!”

I guess dealing with an abstract idea, one without any actual proof, is not his strong point and I wonder if telling him whether it’s a boy or girl would help him. Otherwise, he’s in for one hell of a shock.

As much as having a girl terrifies me (they turn into teenage girls you know), I don’t honestly know how sad I’ll be at the thought of having a house full of children and no tutus.

Chatting with a friend last week, she described having baby girl after having a boy as the opening of a new door, and she’s right. I’ve always had the girl door closed on me. How sad will I be to find out it’s always going to be closed? (no. 3 is the last baby we’ll have, it is a car full after all) Will I be better off finding out sooner rather than later? Will it matter at all?

Another part of me doesn’t want to find out just so, if I am having a girl, I’m not swamped in that delightful shade of baby pink. I do so love green, teal, turquoise and yellow.

A friend of mine posted this on my Facebook wall and it made me think, even if I did have a girl, this is probably the kind of girl I’d end up raising anyway, especially with two, superhero obsessed big brothers.

I also love this.

In fact, I already have the cutest skeleton babygrow stashed away in Pixel’s drawers.

According to this, odds are still 50/50 ish regardless of the fact that so far, I’ve only managed to make boys. My chances of having a girl have only fallen 2% after having two boys, so we'll just have to see. We may find out in just over a month, or we may not. Or we might find out and only tell the boys. I just don't know. We've got  month to decide.

He Threatened to Punch Me...He Couldn't Help it.

When Mr. Strawberry and I started spending the night together, he gave me a warning;

“I might punch you in the face when I’m asleep”

Sure you will, I replied, I’d like to see you try.

It didn’t take long for me to realise what made him think he might but it was an exaggeration of the truth and almost ten years later, I can honesty say he has never punched me.

He’s not 100% sure what happens at night, and personally I think his mean ex was the person who hyped it up in his head and told him he’d punched her. I personally don’t trust her opinion but in my experience, although we tend to sleep bottom to bottom so his fists are nowhere near me anyway, it’s more of a judder than a lashing out, so I don’t see how that could have happened. Sometimes his legs jolt, but even they’ve never kicked me.

It turns out Mr. Strawberry suffers from a mild case of sleep myoclonus, which means that as he drifts off every night, he has involuntary twitches, particularly in his arms and legs. The only pattern I’ve been able to notice is that the more stressed he is in his day to day life, the more violent the twitching and this can delay his sleep transition. A really strong judder will wake him up so the poor bloke has to start all over again in trying to get to sleep.

I’ve also noticed is that if I gently stroke him, he never judders. Unfortunately, although I am sometimes the last person to fall asleep, I can’t seem to do it until he’s actually in deep sleep, my arm gets tired or I enter the deeper doze state of falling asleep.

After doing some research, I think most of us suffer with some form of myoclonus without even noticing. Hiccups are the most common type but also that feeling of when you are just falling asleep and you feel like you ‘catch’ yourself, often from a brief falling dream and jolt yourself awake.

Myoclonus is a symptom not a diagnosis and can be related to more serious issues, but because he is healthy and has no other symptoms, I honestly don’t think its anything to worry about, except that maybe he should take it easier and relax more but you try telling him that. Mild sleep myoclonus, which only happens during the sleep transition stage is very common and from what I’ve read, often unexplainable.

So, it looks like I’ll have to put up with it. My only real complaint is that I can’t cuddle him because his jolts stop me from settling. If it gets worse, affects him during the day or starts happening at other times, I’ll whip him off to the doctors.

Sleep well my dearies x

Information sources;

http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/myoclonus/detail_myoclonus.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myoclonus

http://sleep.lovetoknow.com/Twitching_While_Sleeping

http://www.enkivillage.com/body-tremors-at-night.html

http://www.sleepdex.org/myoclonus.htm

Baby Panic

I started writing this when I was two months pregnant but didn’t publish as we hadn’t announced it.

I’m having a panic.

A friend from Uni recently had a baby, and therefore her Facebook posts are full of her beautiful baby and super cheerful notes on how happy she is and how lucky she feels.

Me however, I’m mid panic.

I know what its like to have a baby. I know the mind numbing monotony of feeding, wiping, dressing, washing, desperately trying to squeeze in a nap, trying to make it out the house for it to only end in tears. I know how it feels to have not had any where near enough sleep, to have someone else entirely reliant on you.

And yet here she is, always so positive. I want to message her asking if she really is that positive all the time. I wrote the message in my head and then realized, I really didn’t want her to admit to feeling a little blue. I really didn’t care to have my bubble of her and her joy burst.

I also remember those moments when you look at your baby’s face and think, bloody hell you’re beautiful. I still have those moments now, even though they’re not cute little squishy things anymore, they’re strong and muscular growing boys. And although their temper tantrums are more destructive than when they were in nappies, their hugs are fiercer too.

It may just be crazy hormones, but sometimes I think ‘what the hell have I done?’, but more often I cry with sheer happiness that finally the baby have talked about for years is here, growing well and will be with us in no time at all. The idea of watching this little human grow up and become even half the person the boys have become is absolute bliss.

It’s going to be messy, noisy and sleep deprived, but it’s also going to be full of sloppy kisses and giggling, because if nothing else, the shit the kids get up to makes me laugh until my belly hurts.

I can’t wait.

Raising a Big, Boisterous Boy.

Its 5am. 

I’m snuggling up to the cheeky 6 year old who has snuck into the parental bed again when I realize his feet are resting on my shins. 

When did my youngest get so huge?

Bean is growing at a phenomenal rate. Yes, I know, everyone says that about their children but Bean is something else I’m sure of it. His 7 year old brother is perfectly average, if not a little rounder in the bottom than most kids his age (presumably due to his annoyingly restricted diet). However Bean’s body, being 17 months younger, seems to have decided this growing up thing is in fact a race. 

At first clothes buying was easy, I’d buy a bunch of clothes and Ed would grow out of them just in time for Bean to grow into them.

There was a seasonal issue, in that Bean was wearing Ed's Summer clothes in Winter so his wardrobe would have to topped up with a few extra jumpers and jeans, but other than that it was brilliant.

This photo was my first clue. At just 3, Bean (left) was looking bigger than Ed (right) who was 4 and a half. I took a few of these photos, thinking the angle was all wrong and being confused by what I kept seeing on my camera display.

The hand-me-downs went on until we reached 4-5 years clothes, when there was a hefty overlap. By size 5-6 they were in the same size, making clothes buying literally twice as expensive. Thankfully by this age they were actually wearing the clothes out, rather than growing out of them before they got even the tiniest bit scuffed. I couldn’t have made Bean wear holey hand-me-downs anyway, so it didn’t matter so much.

Now they are both in 7-8 years clothes, despite the fact that they are in fact 6 & 7. The clothes that are tight on Bean, fit Ed perfectly, so the hand-me-downs are now going in the opposite direction.

My ‘little’ brother is built like a brick shit house, so it looks like Bean has ended up with a load of his genes which is odd because I thought he got his general hugeness from my step-dad…but they do look very similar both in appearance and mannerisms. I’d show you photos but my brother literally will not allow anyone to take a picture of him.

I started to see some actual problems when a house guest moved in. We have a two year old boy staying with us at the moment, and of course my boys love him to pieces but I keep catching Bean, in his usual over-excitedness, being a bit of a bully. I can’t accept bullying in my house, so I have had to spend some time explaining to him that he needs to be aware of what his body is doing and how it might feel to someone half his size.

I personally think, however young a child is, they should be allowed to express their own opinion on who invades their personal space and what happens to their body. It is their body after all and I think they should be encouraged to be confident enough to say no. Except if they have a really stinky nappy of course. Or teeth brushing issues. Actually anything personal hygiene related. That stuff just needs shoving into their daily routine.

Unfortunately for Bean, as well as being huge he is also extra (definitely more than usual) boisterous. He’s heavy handed, clumsy and playful.

So I asked him, if I backed him into a corner, even just to tickle him, would he not be intimidated as I towered over him? Yes he replied.

I’ve tried to explain to him, that as a big boy, bigger than most of his class (as his recent class photo shows), he needs to be extra careful. He needs to be aware of his body, where it is and what it’s doing to ensure not only the safety of other children but also their feelings too.

It’s perfectly possible I’m thinking about this too much, and it’s also possible he’ll plateau at some point and everyone else will catch up. Or he’ll end up like my brother, and 11lb baby who turned into a giant 22 year old.

Hopefully I’ll manage to raise a gentle giant rather than a boisterous beast of a man. Thankfully he has a heart of gold buried in that wide chest so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

I’ll continue to praise his kind acts, his sweet affection and remind him to be kind when I need to.

I am so looking forward to seeing the man he’ll become in a few short years.

Good luck raising yours too my lovelies xxx

Smash Dude; Friend or Foe?

A few years ago I downloaded the game 'Smash Dude' on my phone, but it didn't last long before I deleted it. Sold as "hilarious stress relief", I decided I couldn't justify peppering a chained up guy with bullets as stress relief. I mean, he's chained up! And what did he ever do wrong anyway? What could have justified this?

The boys, who have inherited our old phones, have unfortunately found this game in my iCloud.

At first I was cross, but they both gave a rather persuasive argument about him not being real and therefore feels no pain. I think it's super mature of them to be able to define fiction from non-fiction. The ability to do so will certainly help them when they delve into the abyss which is teenager computer games and help stop them from being the kind of people who take one of those 'shoot 'em up' games too seriously.

Ed also gave me the argument that he's chained up so he must be a prisoner, but I simply explained that we don't treat prisoners like that.

My kids like to break stuff. I'm not going to say it's because they're boys, because I'm morally against sentences like that. Girls like to break stuff too. Look at the fun I had only three weeks ago breaking down a wall in my house.

You smash a brick with the lump hammer until the mortar cracks, then you take it out and start on the next brick. Now, that's my kind of stress relief!

They play together, which is always nice. Side by side they compare weapons and destruction. They collect coins to save up and buy more weapons.

But the holes in their argument crack when they figure out they can make him laugh hysterically by tickling him with a feather. They've also found they can smother him with kisses.

Taking some rest bite from Smash Due to watch a story book.

It has 2,448 reviews with an average of four stars. Most of the reviews imply it's a lot of silly fun, some of the lower ratings are actually from people who want more weapons and better sound effects rather than those who are simple disgusted.

It used to be rated 12, but it's now 17 years and over, so I presume Firezoo (the game creators) listened to complaints and raised it, but it doesn't really make that much difference.

Here are some of the reviews;

Torturing a dummy for fun? Outrageous!

I found my kid playing this game and I'm shocked. I think it's outrageous that this type of game even exists. Hitting, burning, electrocuting a human shaped dummy with a sad face is sickening. This game shouldn't exist because it encourages bullying and gives ideas of things to do just for fun. Horrible. It should be banned.

mari.rivers 30/12/13

Great but you should be able to put a face on him from a photo.

smurf159 3/9/13

I think of my bully I can't hit him but I can go on this app and imagine it's him and kill him.

hariv1 24/3/15

I broke his head off both his arms off and both his legs off :D best game ever.

epic lords 20/7/13

This is massively messed up! Whether or not 'sack dude' is real or not is irrelevant. This app encourages you to gain entertainment and pleasure from torturing a chained character. I don't see the need for this app and actually think is should be banned.

kcb-24 20/4/12

I've also discovered that Smash Dude has his own Twitter account, where not only does he advertise Firezoo's new games, he also reminds us that he can take it and he actually kinda likes it. Mmmmm...weird.

I think the boys like this app simply because they have control over cause and effect, in the same way they love the talking robot who copies what they say (mostly the word bottom!). They love collecting the coins to buy new stuff and they particularly like the lightening bolts, which I can kind of understand because it looks great. While the little wooden guy remains inanimate, I'm not too worried. Especially when they flit between that and Minecraft, then back onto cute story books.

I'll keep an eye on it. Mr Strawberry doesn't like it at all so they may just find it gone one morning and strict parental controls installed on their devices.

A friend pointed out that simply deleting it is a waste of an opportunity, especially since they can't pretend them haven't seen it. It would probably be better to use it as a chance to talk about our personal choices as to whether or not we are kind or mean. You can cover him in kisses, plasters and tickle him. Or you can shot the hell out of him.

What do you think? Should I stop being such a prude or do you think it's damaging?

Colourful paintballing and kisses.

The lightening is very pretty.

Or you can just throw snowballs.

Raising Girls Must be Easy

Girls have it so easy.

They get their choice of colours, hobbies and a massive array of clothing.

Clothes shopping for boys is rubbish. As a Mum of two boys, we have one section, hidden amongst rows and rows of girls clothes and accessories, and even then it's mostly dull trousers shrouded by overpriced marvel t-shirts.

Once again my five year old, Bean, has been in my closet and helped himself to my perfume because Mia (at school) is allowed to wear perfume and she apparently she smells nice. When I asked him how many sprays he had used, he admitted to five, maybe six. I feel like my overloaded nose might explode, but I can't really be angry with him.

We made him his own using essential oils. He chose a rather fruity, citrus smell, which he can over spray to his heart's content, though he is learning quickly that two will do.
In case you're intrigued; we made the perfume using a few drops of essential oils we simply liked the smell of added to 10ml almond oil, give it a shake, add 5ml glycerin and 5ml vodka, shake again then add cooled boiled water. Shake before use.

Whenever I take a few moments to put some nail varnish on, the always insist on having some too, so I let them wear it on their toes because I can't send them to school with it on their fingers; not because they're boys, but because I think it's against school uniform rules (ever the avid rule follower and I still haven't ever used nail varnish remover on their little delicate fingers). In the school holidays they can have it where ever they want. I just know even if it isn't against school rules, the teachers may pull them up on it anyway and I don't want them to be embarrassed, especially if it happened in front of the whole class. How can I explain to a five year old that some people think boys shouldn't wear nail varnish?

Last Christmas, Bean asked for a kitten. I wasn't going to invest in a real live cat as we already have a rather nervous dog who would not take well to an intruder, so I got him a toy kitten which purrs and everything. Of course it was from the girlie aisle in the toy store. And it had a little pink bow on it's head. My terrified husband, being the 'man's man' he is, requested I snip it off, but I forgot. Bean didn't notice the bow. He was only cross that it wasn't real.

A week or so ago, Bean was sad because a class mate had told him he couldn't go to Ashleigh's birthday party because she's having girlie pamper party. Little do these Mum's realise just how much he would've enjoyed it and how ostracised he felt being left out.

When chatting to some friends about this, one of them had a similar issue with a party her son wasn't invited to for the same reason but it just turned out to be a crafty party which her little guy would've have really enjoyed.

At this young age, I think they should have more freedom do to whatever they want to, wear what ever they want to. Let them learn who they want to be before piling on the social restraints of 'being a man'.

Ed, my seven year old, is very literally minded and likes to put things into boxes in his head. I haven't told him 'pink is for girls' but I guess the kids at school have because that's what he believes.
I find myself constantly reminding both my boys that there's no sensible reason to turn down everything pink or purple, letting girls have all the choice, leaving themselves two colours short. I tend to buy our plastic crockery in multi-coloured packs, so if nothing else it means the pink bowls get used rather than disregarded because (apparently) they're too girlie.

I used to clean a preschool for a few hours every day and sometimes, the boys would come with me. Ed would usually play Minecraft on his device but Bean would often reach for the giant Barbie house and spend his time dressing the dolls. He got a lot of joy out of it and I loved watching him but why did it feel like he was going against some kind of grain? 

Why did it feel so unusual?

Yes, he put Ken in a dress.

After doing a spot of internet research, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't give a damn.
The world can be cruel and kids can be truly horrid, I can't protect either of them from that. All I can do is provide them with a safe place where they can grow into whoever they want to be and ensure they know they can always come to me.
During my research, I came across a comment by someone whose parents were not supportive of her preferences. They told her she'd be picked on for her love of Star Trek, that it was too geeky, so when she was bullied at school, she found it difficult to stand up for herself simply because without her parents loving support, she presumed they were probably right. That's awful! 
I would much rather be the parent who says, yes, you might get picked on for your pink nail varnish but screw them! You do want you want, you're an amazing human being. I love you, your friends love you and some people can just be really small minded. They're wrong, not you. You are the only you....I could go on.

Don't worry, I'm not naive enough to presume girls don't have their own issues regarding gender, it just seems to me that its more acceptable for a girl to be a tom boy than for a boy to be girlie sometimes. This issue has a lot more facets to it than I can put into sentences, this is simply how it effects us day to day.

My main concern is raising two well-rounded boys, who won't judge other people for their own choices, who will ignore the opinions of bigoted idiots and be happy in their own sense of self.
Doing so without pushing them into gender opposing ideas is a fine line, but how will we ever be truly equal if there is a standard disregard for 'girlie' things by our little boys? If we let our little boys turn down nail varnish, or even bright clothing because 'it's for girls', how can we stop little boys saying football is only for boys?
If a boy is ridiculed for wanting to be a nurse or a carer, how will a girl feel when she goes for the CEO job?
Gender equality has to work both ways, but at the same time I won't be pushing my boys into donning the pink nail varnish. I'll let them do what they want, even if it is influenced by whatever the kids at school are saying. As a society, I think we've come a very long way in a short amount of time and we've become a lot more accepting of people and their life choices. Rather than pushing (and consequently making life difficult for my boys), I think I'd be better off letting it carry on evolving for the better. I'm pretty certain by the time Bean is in High School, people's attitude will be even further improved and if his preference for dressing well (and in the brightest colours he can find)........oh no.....I have to interrupt my sentence here because everything I'm thinking is a stereotype and I should know better than that. I'll put it this way; if Bean, or Ed for that matter, grows up and finds he prefers boys, he will know he is loved and I'm sure his school friends, whoever they may be, will support him in his choices.
Well, I hope so anyway.

Anyway, back to the subject of gender fluidity (yes, boys liking girlie things (the girls liking boy things) has been given a name), a few months ago, while watching David Walliams kiss Orlando Bloom on Comic Relief night, Bean exclaimed "I've never seen two boys kissing!" as though it was weird. 
I immediately replied with "Dude, you watched your Uncle marry a bloke only last Summer!" 
Cue a long conversation/rant about how love is love and it doesn't matter who you fall in love with.
Unfortunately, mid rant, it's difficult to get the balance right between ensuring my children know I'll accept them whoever they become and pushing what might be unnatural for them. I don't want to add to the confusion of teenhood. I don't want them to question who they are just because I gave them too many choices. Oh, it's so complicated and I'm concerned I'm saying this all wrong. 
All I want is for them to be happy. That's all.
And maybe I'll let them wear nail varnish on their fingers, it probably wouldn't do any harm to break a small rule every now and then...
I shall promise to worry less about what other people might think, trust my children to stick up for themselves and maybe not over think every little thing ;)

Happy Mother's Day to You All

In the spirit of supporting women of all kinds, at all different stages of their lives, amid their own decisions and life choices, I wanted to say Happy Mother's day to you all, whether you are a mother or not (in the literal sense).

To all the Mummy's who are expecting, I'm so excited for you! Your life is about to change dramatically and although things probably won't work out how you envisaged it (sorry to say), it will be a lot of fun.

To all the women who have fought against infertility and miscarriages, and all the poking and prodding that goes along with that, my heart goes out to you.

To all the Mummy's who have a newborn, I know its arduous. The constant feeding and wiping can get really dull, but trust me it's worth it and it'll be over before you know it (and certainly before you're ready for it to be).

To all the women who have been through abortion or putting children up for adoption, I respect your personal decisions. You've made some tough choices and I'm sorry things have been hard for you.

To all the Mummy's with young children, it's chaotic and messy, but enjoy their silliness, honest cuddles and sloppy kisses.

To all the Mums who have lost a child, I'm truly sorry. There aren't words...

To all the Mums of teens and pre-teens, though I haven't been through that stage with my own, I remember being one myself and I know it's a minefield, but I'm certain you're doing a fabulous job amid the tantrums and strange smells.

To all the Mums whose children are leaving the family nest, I hope you are enjoying your new found space and freedom, despite how horribly empty your house might feel. you've got through the big part of your job, now it's time to get on with your own stuff and wait for the phone calls...

To all the women who are still waiting for their lives to take the baby turn, give it time.

To all the women who've lost their own Mum, my heart goes out to you.

To all the women who are surrounded by 'non-biological' children, you're awesome! 
Whether you're an Auntie, a foster Mum or a second Mom to your best friend's kids, you enrich their lives.

And finally, to all the women who've chosen not to have children of their own but keep a watchful and loving eye over their family and friends, I respect your decisions and I hope you don't let anyone tell you your life is in any way incomplete or wasted just because you chose not to reproduce.

My Mother's Day Cards

Yay! Thanks to school I have Mothers day cards I didn't help make myself. 

I love little surprises and use any opportunity I can to let people keep secrets (the nice kind) from me at Christmas, on my birthday, Valentine's day and Mother's day.

I knew they must have making them because on Wednesday Bean had paint all over his sleeve and when I asked about it he replied;

"Mother's day cards". 

Ooops Bean, don't think you were supposed to tell me that...

So, on Friday, Ed, who is very precious about his surprises and hates them to be ruined in any way, came out of school with something stuffed inside his coat. We walked to the car as he gave Bean and I strict instructions to go straight into the kitchen when we got home. However, he must have got overexcited and when we got home, before we'd even walked through the door he asked me if I wanted it early, then gave it to me before I had a chance to answer.

Now, I'll be honest, Ed spends a fair amount of time telling me I don't love him, and he's written me notes that say something along the lines of; 

"I love you but I don't think you love me" 

So I had expected his card to be full of: 

"You don't love me, you've never even liked me, you're an asshole"

Instead, I got this...

Translation; Dear Mum, Happy Mother's Day. I love you lots, from Ed.

Bean's card was stashed in his homework bag, and when given permission to remove it, I found this.

I seriously never expected this.

When I asked for a translation of '1psent min' I literally laughed out loud and asked why on earth he'd put that. Bean is always so loving and sweet, it was a surprise to see this written in his beautifully hand-painted card. 

Apparently, it's very simple. 

The morning he wrote his card out at school was the morning I wouldn't let him have crisps for breakfast.

Mommy, you are 1 percent mean, from Henry
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Now I don't need flowers or chocolates, instead I have two little boys who I know will never hold back and always be honest about their feelings, however, Ed decided it was inappropriate to write something mean in his card, which I think is an excellent notion to have at just seven. 

What great kids I have. I'm one lucky Mummy.

Baby Number Three?

One of the great things about being me is that I feel big emotions for short spurts of time. When things are good, they're really good, and when things are bad, they're really bad. This seems to fit with motherhood because my kids seem to run on similar mood swings. My days are full of moments when I look at my kids and think; "Bloody hell, you're beautiful!" When we stop for five minutes and have a snuggle on the sofa, it's the best five minutes of my life.

I don't want to dwell on the bad moments, mostly because I don't remember them. But I did once contemplate, for a millisecond, crashing the car just to make the fighting in the back seats stop. I don't let it get to me because even in the depths of a bad bit, I know there's a good bit around the corner.

This makes the decision to have a third child difficult because I change my mind on a hourly basis, and once the deed is done, I can't ever take it back.

Almost three years ago, it was my main goal. I wanted to lose all the previous baby weight so I could have the pregnancy I'd dreamed of without the overzealous doctors complaining about my weight. I was working out at the gym three times a week with the image of a growing human as my inspiration. I never succeeded with the weight loss because I enjoy eating too much but that's not why I gave up on the baby dream. I gave up over a year ago because I realised how difficult I was finding being a mother of my two little boys. I was struggling to home educate them, while running the house, ignoring my online business and entering into the mission that is getting Ed's diagnosis.

Now they're back at school, life is of course very different. I get a lot of time to work on my own stuff and the boys are settled into the routine of school runs and the like but there are still moments when I really struggle with my boys, like at bedtime or when we're out. Moments when an extra person to worry about would be way too much for me to cope with. How can I round after them in the store with a buggy? How can I get them to settle at night when they're having a mad half hour and I've also got a hungry baby to contend with? Of course Mr Strawberry would help a lot, but those moments are already super stressful. 

Despite this, as I head swiftly to my late 30's, the inner panic of losing my fertility is rising. For some reason my head just keeps coming back to the idea of having another baby. When we got married, we wanted to have a big family. We are both from large families and we'd planned of having four ourselves. This plan changed when we'd had two children 16 months apart, promising ourselves we would never do that again.

My biggest problem is that I am super gullible. I can be sold a dream in less than two paragraphs. I'm also a bit of a fantasist. So all this imagery the media throws at us fools me every time. Beautifully airbrushed mothers with their chubby little babies, laughing and playing in their sparkly clean homes. I know it's not real, I know, but it's a nice dream.

Only the SMA TV advert is truly honest. It shows those moments when you might think 'this might all just too much for me to cope with'. Those moments like when you're ready to leave the house finally, having packed the equivalent of a weekend away only to find the little monster has done one of those poos, the one when it goes all the way up his back. 

So, do I really want to enter back into a world of nappies, crying, sleepless nights and living with a little human who has no sense of reason? I know what real sleep deprivation is like and what it does to your mind. I know what shower fear is, that guilt and worry you feel when you're finally taking five minutes to wash your hair. I've listened to my baby scream constantly as I washed the skanky breast milk from my stinky body (I leaked...a lot). But it's all just temporary. 

As bad as it got, it's gone now. 

I love that on Sunday mornings, while I lay in bed, my little ones take themselves downstairs and fetch themselves some breakfast. I love that they are perfectly capable of fixing themselves something to eat (I'm always listening out, forever the worrier, but you should see their faces when I come downstairs to find them chomping away). They are quickly turning into reasonable and independent men and I love it. I have loved watching them grow, establish their personalities, and change from a squishy little squeaky things to learning how to be grown men. 

And that's the pinnacle of parenthood: watching them grow. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another human to observe. 

A few fellow mothers I know well enough to have this conversation with would also love to have another baby, but are terrified. Life with two small children is hard enough, and they worry they won't be able to cope with an extra person. And rightly so. Especially if you have children who appear to be a little extra high maintenance. 

But what if having a house full of giggles and silliness is what you want? Of course it will also be full of demands of more food, dressing children in clothes only to realise they've grown out of them...again and the nightmare that is instilling a bedtime routine.

And there are of course Mums I know who are doing a fabulous job of raising a large family.

As cute as babies are, they need you 24/7. Sounds do-able until you realise just how draining that is. After six weeks of hard work, those first smiles are pretty much guarrenteed to be aimed at someone else and when he learns to talk, he'll say Dada and Nana way before he says Mama.

Everything will always need wiping, food splashed all over the walls, carpets pee'd on, but you won't have the energy or the inclination to bother. Cleaning a house with children in it is like trying to bail out a boat with hole in it using a teaspoon.

I'm finally starting to gain control over the cleanliness of our home and having a new baby would change all that, which in turn would literally depress me. I need my surroundings to be clean and tidy-ish to stop my mind from going completely wild.

But I can't cope with what if's. I know baby number three will haunt me for the rest of my life if we don't try. But we also know now isn't the right time. Not right now, we've both got too much on our plates. But it may not always be this way.

I saw a meme the other day which said "your child will be your best teacher and most beautiful work of art". The reality is, is that some of those lessons will be painful to learn.

We don't regret the things we do, but the things we don't do. I've never heard anyone grow old and say they wish they'd spent more time working but I have heard people say they'd wish they'd had more children.

We don't regret the things we do, but the things we don't do.

Brave Face: Teaching Children to be Honest

As adults we often find ourselves giving the world our happy face regardless of what's going on inside. We have people in our lives we can be truly honest with, who when they ask how we are, rather than give them the "fine, how are you?" response, we tell them the truth, good and bad. 

When I collected Bean from school on Thursday, he had his arms wrapped around his tummy and his little face was white as a sheet. He was obviously quite poorly and his teacher handed him over seeming oblivious. As soon as we got in the car he fell asleep and proceeded to spend his evening sleeping in the sofa, waking only to puke in a bowl. He perked up around 8pm and happily got ready for bed despite skipping dinner and sleeping for almost five hours that afternoon. 

He was fine after a good nights sleep but because he'd been sick in the last 24 hours he couldn't go to school, so we had a lovely chilled out day together. 

When we collected his brother at 3pm, I picked up Bean's homework from his teacher and asked if she knew he was poorly. Apparently, she had no clue. 

Now I know Bean had a rubbish short term memory so it's difficult to drag the truth about what happened, but when questioned he told me he had felt poorly both before and after lunchtime, which means my poor sausage had felt dreadful all day and not bothered to tell anyone.  I, of course, explained to both boys that if they ever felt poorly at school, they ought to tell a teacher and I'd be happy to come fetch them so I could take care of them. There's no reason to suffer though it.

But it bothered me that Bean couldn't tell his teacher, who is lovely. I hope she doesn't feel bad about not noticing how ill he was. I know my boys and if they want to put on a brave face for the world, they will, keeping all their feelings saved up for when they see me. Ed is the same, he keeps everything bottled up all day only to release a tirade of emotions when I collect him. I wish they could be more comfortable with their teachers, though they have only been at this new school for five months, they need to be open and honest with their teachers.  Especially if new situations arise, like if someone started bullying them, they need to be able to tell someone at the school. 

I don't really know how to deal with this, aside from talking to them, encouraging them to be open with their teacher, instilling the idea that their teacher is a safe place and giving them more time to get used to their new school. 

On the plus side, despite how busy and distracted I can get, I am obviously still their favourite 'safe place' and I can't help but enjoy that feeling of being needed by my little people. I must be doing an okay job of being there for them when they need me *mini happy dance*.

I think the 'brave face' has a place in our lives, we can't go around opening up to everyone who glances in our direction, that would be weird (and we've all experienced that person at the bus stop who suddenly launches into their life story, which only leaves you thinking "why can't I drive?") but I think there needs to be a certain amount of people you can open up to. For my boys, I think they should have someone at home (obviously) and someone at school. In fact, thinking about it, the people who are truly miserable at work seem to be the people who haven't got anyone they can be truly honest with in that place. So maybe we need one at home, one at work, one at whatever social activity we do.

What do you think? 

Are things uncomfortable when you don't have a confidante in each surroundings you find yourself in on a regular basis?

Labelling children

So, what's wrong with a label?

My husband constantly complains he can't spell. He gets offended when I say he can he just needs to practice more. I'm not saying he's not worked hard enough, I'm just saying that by writing himself off, he's effectively giving up. Labelling himself as a 'none speller'. Someone who'll never be able to spell. There is of course a possibility that, as a very dyslexic man, he'll never be able to spell certain words, just as a fish will never be able to climb a tree but why give up entirely? He finds it embarrassing, and often avoids it, but in the years we've been married I've learnt to sound out his text messages and often they make perfect sense, so long as I do it in his Derbyshire accent.

It's the same with my eldest, Ed, who is undergoing a diagnosis for Asperger's. He may never be able to cope with certain situations; he may never be able to deal with a lot of noise or his lack of control. But I'm not certain that's true, given guidance and coping mechanisms he'll probably be just fine. 

The label could help him, provide him with the support he needs to carry out a normal and fulfilling life. I would like to hope it wouldn't hinder him, or encourage him to avoid situations he presumes he wouldn't be able to cope with. 

I know labelling children can be detrimental, creating a self fulfilling prophecy. 
The arty kids find it hard to gain respect in the maths class.
The mathletes find it hard to earn respect in P.E. class.
And the trouble makers finds it hard to gain trust because it's much less effort to just behave how everyone expects you to.
Maybe the ADD kid will never sit down because everyone around him presumes he can't. Or maybe, actually, he can't. 

My husband wasn't given his dyslexia diagnosis until it was too late. His self confidence had plummeted and with an earlier label and more support, maybe he wouldn't be so quick to write himself off.

Without a diagnosis, without an explanation as to why my little boys behave the way they do, I feel a little lost. My first port of call is of course to blame myself, blame my crappy parenting skills. But actually, I'm doing my best, I know I am.

During a family meal the other day, everyone commented (adults and children alike) that Ed was having crisps while everyone else enjoyed a delicious home baked meal. He was at least sat at the table, bless him. But we've been through all of this before, and I know he knows I think he's missing out on great food, but that isn't going to make a blind bit of difference to him. For some unknown reason, he can't bring himself to eat most foods. What they didn't see was that before everyone had pudding, he had a bowl of cereal, a cereal he'd never tried before. With gentle encouragement he took two nibbles of the dry flakes, which disgusted him, but then five minutes later he asked if he could try it with milk. I made him a small bowl, which he ate, so I topped it up and we were happy for him to have pudding with everyone else (crisps do not earn you pudding deserving status in our house). He did his best, he tried something new (epic!) and he handled it brilliantly, but I imagine everyone still thinks I'm a bad mother for not making him eat the yummy meal. 

Fresh from a meeting with a speech and language therapist today, presumably the first of many meetings regarding my youngest, who chooses to use his fists instead of his words at school, I found that my referral from the doctor had coincided with a referral from school which basically said he was at risk of being expelled. I knew this of course, but it was a shock to see it on paper. 
Please excuse me while I have a little cry because my lovely little ray of sunshine is deemed 'a threat' by strangers. I can't put into words how sweet Bean is, he just can't seem to control his emotions. 
The therapist seemed surprised to hear that his school haven't started putting any systems in place to deal with his behaviour yet, aside from the one they use for everyone, but I'll not slag them off because they have been so kind and understanding with both my little guys and together we'll get there in the end.

My point is, left to his own devices, my beautiful, loving, bouncy, intelligent little man would soon be expelled from school simply because everything in his head is all jumbled up, it moves too fast and he can't concentrate long enough to see it. He has no idea what his doing, he doesn't understand the consequences enough to stop himself before it happens. The self esteem of this gorgeous boy is in our hands, and a label will help him understand who he is, that he's not broken, he's just different.
Talking to the therapist today, trying to answer all her questions, made me realise just how much we, as a family, just get on with it. We have so many different coping strategies which come so naturally now, it's difficult to pin point which ones are abnormal. As we chatted, I realised that actually having my Mum, who visits at least three times a week turn round to me a say; 
"Yay! Bean said two whole sentences to me!" 
is abnormal because he's five, he just doesn't often choose to speak to other people.
It helps that Bean and I are on the same page. We have always simply clicked and I'm now wondering if there's a running theme here. The more I research ADHD, the more it makes perfect sense to me. I think I presumed everyone's mind worked this way, but maybe that's not the case. I read this a few weeks ago and it pretty much sums up the warning I gave Mr Strawberry before we got married. I remember sitting him down and explaining just how hard I will be to live with. Until I started looking into how to deal with Bean, I never realised how many of these ADHD traits I have myself. I did one of those lovely online tests and got a ridiculously high score. I bet the Doctor would love it if I turned up with that haha. I imagine they get really sick of self-diagnosis and web research. Thankfully, Mr Strawberry loves me regardless.
It's going to sound mean, but my Asperger's research has only led to confusion, I can't seem to get my head around it and more often than not, Ed and I rub each other up the wrong way. I feel nothing but gratefulness that he at least has Daddy. Daddy gets him in a way I cannot. I love him and I'll always provide for him, but I struggle to understand what's going on in his noggin.

The problem with labelling is that it can make us a bit lapsy-daisy. I often find myself forgiving Ed for things I wouldn't let Bean get away with and visa versa. My expectations for each of them is different, but I could be really really wrong.
Also, I've never told them what my visits to the doctor are about because I don't want them to feel 'abnormal'. I occasionally wonder if at the end of this, if one of them, or both of them, doesn't get the diagnosis we're after, will I fight for it? I'm not sure. Today's society of labels creates a vision of what is 'normal' and labels what is not. I don't want my kids to feel like outsiders. We are all individual snowflakes, each with our own quirks. So maybe, treating them differently is exactly what I should be doing. They are not the same child, the same rules do not apply (to a certain extent of course, because no-one is allowed to throw shoes at Mummy's head!). When Ed starts to get grouchy, we encourage him to spend some time alone to gather his thoughts, either in another room with some Lego or on Minecraft. When Bean punches me in the tummy, I ask him politely not to do that (he doesn't listen). I don't naughty step them, because for them, that is a cruel torture device (I understand it works for others, I'm not judging). In fact, when Bean gets really out of hand and can't be distracted, I sit down and hug him, because sofa time with Mummy seems to help when his head's exploding.

But Ed will never be able to cope with the well meaning but heavily sarcastic remarks made by strangers. The other day, while we were paying for our shopping at the checkout, the stupid cashier commented on his thick hair and asked if he could have it. I knew the exact thoughts that were passing through his mind and his shocked expression confirmed my fears. I do so wish people would stop that.
Maybe they both need t-shirts (in their favourite colours of course);

Bean's.

Ed's.