No longer dating

March 15, 2010 by 11 Comments

On Saturday night Mr Pencil and I celebrated our wedding anniversary.  Our anniversary wasn’t even on Saturday but that was the easiest night to go out – babysitting was less impossible than normal, Mr Pencil wasn’t working late and we could sleep off a big night out on the Sunday (a big night out being a night where we leave the house).

We went to a beautiful restaurant that where we hadn’t made a reservation because we had really only got ourselves organised about 12 minutes before and were seated next to a couple who were clearly on their first date.

Date Man had clearly been at the gym all day.  Mr Pencil had clearly been playing wrestling on the trampoline with Little Pencil all day.  While Date Man was buff and ripped from his workout, Mr Pencil looked haggard and exhausted (and he had tiny little finger nail marks on his neck from where Little Pencil had attacked him).

Date Woman ordered carefully, you could just tell that she was being cautious with her choices, no pesto between the teeth, no spaghetti to slurp, no spinach at all and definitely nothing finicky or on a bone.  Also, I imagine, she would have been careful to choose something off the menu that showed she had no eating issues – she was neither picky nor a glutton.  Mr Pencil and I ordered with gay abandon.  We were just grateful that we didn’t have to cook or clean up ourselves.

Date Man and Date Woman looked intensely at each other as they spoke.  Mr Pencil and my eyes hardly met.  When we weren’t gazing adoringly at food that we hadn’t had to prepare ourselves we were looking around the room.  Not judging the other diners as much as giving them complete life stories of our own.  Lives very different from the ones they live no doubt but ones that fed all the illusions we had of how we would live if we weren’t well, you know, us.  Honestly we were glad to not have a whole night out spent arguing discussing child rearing techniques and it was only when we were chatting about retirement and we heard the date couple  discussing university options that we decided to focus the conversation on other people.

As soon as Date Woman went to the bathroom (no doubt to use her phone and check her teeth for food), Mr Pencil took out his phone to check for messages.  Mr Pencil and I had our phones proudly displayed on the table all night – competing with the cutlery for space as a sign to the rest of the world that we were very important people parents and we had to have our phones at finger distance  just in case the baby sitter called.  I also checked the phone every two twenty minutes in case by some strange freakish chance the volume had turned itself off since I checked it last and I had missed that call reminding me of my own importance.

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I think the differences in ages and stages of life were fairly well cemented when Date Woman pulled out a lipstick from her bag and I bent down to do the same.  The major difference being that she pulled out a stunning red colour and I inadvertently pulled out a darth vadar lego figurine.

At the end of the meal Mr Pencil was feeling fat (the overeaten type of fat) , Date Man was feeling  fat too (the I’m ready to tear off my clothes type of fat).  I was feeling knackered (the exhausted type of knackered) and Date Woman was about to be knackered (NOT the exhausted  type of knackered).

Then we got the bill and and Mr Pencil didn’t visibly flinch (hello Date Man) and we drove back to the home we have created together and I realised that I could be the person I am because of Mr Pencil.  I can eat copious amounts of mash potato and spinach and not feel bad, I can laugh and talk utter nonsense about the people around me and Mr Pencil will laugh with me, I can put Darth Vadar to my mouth and Mr Pencil wont laugh loudly (or feel threatened), I can share my neuroses and  my love for the Little Pencil with someone who gets it as much as I do.

I think I was the  luckiest  woman at the restaurant on Saturday night.

What does it take to make you realise how lucky you are ?

Filed Under: Uncategorized

From stealthy ninja to wet tomato

March 10, 2010 by 13 Comments

Long ago, at a time far removed from the present, where there were no cares and no responsibilities, where exercise was the norm and time was plentiful, I was a huge devotee of kickboxing classes. But then life got in the way.  And kickboxing stopped for me.  Just like that.

Last night I decided it was time to go back, a decision made largely because I really miss punching stuff and for some reason Mr Pencil will not let me randomly deliver 20 uppercuts to his solar plexus. So, ever so smugly, I returned to the class thinking I would beat the hell out of the punching bag, do a couple of press ups and then go home.

Unfortunately the reality is that I had the smugness beaten out of me.

As I walked in, to what I thought would be rapturous applause (but was in reality a snigger from one of the die hards and a look of concern from the instructor) I spotted a woman that was at least 10 years older than me.  I thought I had better be kind to her after all she was much older than me and I was obviously much fitter than her (not that I am at all competitive).  And I was kind to her.  I thanked her profusely when she opened my water bottle after I had watched in awe as she did 10 one handed press ups.  And after the class when I could hardly turn the key in my ignition, I never even thought of opening the car door into her as she ran past.

I thought my work out would produce a  sexy sheen, an almost glittery glow to my skin from the tiny amount of perspiration that I would produce.  It turns out I didn’t so much perspire as sweat bucketloads.  And I never looked sexy.  I looked like a wet tomato.

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I also believed that when I used my strong right upper hook I would look like a fighter – steely, determined and intimidating.  Actually I looked depraved.  Like I was having a fit while simultaneously yawning and sneezing. In scarlet tones.

I blithely believed I could go on for hours.  Turns out that as soon as the instructor said “go at your own pace”, I chose 0km per hour as my pace.

I thought I had chosen my outfit well.  Shiny and black – I looked like a super cool ninja (in the dark recesses of my imagination where I am Uma Thurman).  It turns out that shiny tops ride up when you have to hold the bottom of the punching bag and do ungodly things with your legs.  When you are whiter than the driven snow and wobblier than a pound of jelly, a top that rides up smacks the smug right in the eye.

And while my ego deflated at the gym I thought that was okay – I could come home and write about it.  But when I got home my arms didn’t work and I could not open my laptop cover.  So I admitted defeat and got my husband to run me a bath.  (I threatened him with a turning kick – my smug was already showing signs of recovery in the safety of my own home.)

Have you ever had the smug beaten out of you?

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Back in time. In a babygro

March 1, 2010 by 15 Comments

Casually walking through the shops looking for pyjamas for Little Pencil when my eye caught a tiny little babygro.  The really tiny one.  The one marked 00000. And my eyes welled up and the tears started to flow.

How can it be that such a tiny item of clothing can have such a profound effect on me?

Will I ever be able to look at baby clothes and not feel such huge emotion?  Most of my friends look at baby clothes and feel maternal.  I look at baby clothes and feel emotional.

My baby is not a baby anymore.  He is 9.  Nine years have passed since he was born 10 weeks early weighing just over one kilogram. Nine years that I have cried every time I think about his start in life, nine years that I have cried every time I see newborn clothes.

When Little Pencil was born there was no time to get used to his size, no time to fully understand his condition.  We just had to get through every day.  We had to be strong and we had to cope.  I kept a diary of his physical condition (which is now his blog) and the social worker believed that would help me cope from day to day.  And it did.  But it never helped me process what was happening. It never helped to compensate for the fact that for the first 2 months of his life my little baby struggled every single day and I could sit with him, I could love him, eventually I could even hold him but I could not take away the pain.  I could not stop the invasive testing, the daily blood tests, the scans, the tube changes, the life full of medical intervention.  I couldn’t stop it because he needed it in order to survive.

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But I still marvel at the pull of a babygro, the power of something so innocuous to bring up something so emotional. And I realise that I actually spend a lot of time dwelling in my past – through songs that I link to places or incidents, through aromas that I associate with a certain person or experience or when I see things that bring back to mind certain events.

So is it only things that we haven’t dealt with that bring up such huge emotion?  Or is it something that has considerably changed our lives, perhaps it is just a memory that we really want to hold on to and so we bank it for later?  I like to think that this return in time helps us relive our joy, understand our sadness or experience the lessons the incident was sent to teach us.

I think I am going to have to surround myself in a lot baby clothes to get there.

What takes you back and where do you go?

Filed Under: Little Pencil, My Life, My Views

It was my son’s party and I could cry if I wanted to. So I did

February 22, 2010 by 9 Comments

Yesterday we celebrated Little Pencil’s birthday party with 12 boys* at a go-karting track.  Read that sentence again bearing in mind that I am a neurotic, over protective and, some say (some being my family), fun-phobic mother.   As you digest that allow me to add that this go-karting track was an hour’s drive from my home.   Not only did I have the “pleasure” of 12, super excited, heat frazzled,  8 and 9 year old boys but I had the dubious honour of transporting them to a venue 60 minutes from the comfort of my home.

60 minutes away from home could be seen as a good thing.  The more kilometres between the boys and my home the better.  But the thing was that we had to spend an hour in the car with these gorgeous young men (using gorgeous young men in the sense of loud, rambunctious  little boys)

As a little background information you should be aware that I had not slept for two nights.  The first night I was up trying to recognise the person in the mirror who had fallen to the insanity of hosting a go-karting party.  The second night I was up googling “go-karting and injuries” and as 3am turned to 4am I started to google “go-karting and death”.  At 5:30 am in a fit of hope I woke Mr Pencil to reassure myself that these particular go-karts did not have engines.  He looked almost excited even at this ungodly hour and reassured me “of course they do”.  It was too late to cancel.

Five  very eager dads had volunteered to take to the party.  I know that this was because they wanted a chance at the go-karting but I took their help anyway.  So Mr Pencil and I took 3 kids and distributed the others amongst the other poor souls.

I was planning on catching up on some much needed rest in the car but instead, after 5 minutes of driving I found myself opting to walk the 40 or so kilometres.  After Mr Pencil admonished me for daring to leave him alone with the children, I learned quite a bit about driving with three 8 year old boys in a car

  • They will constantly repeat things that you find irritating and annoying.  If you ask them not to do it again they will say it with a different intonation that includes more whine
  • They will need to wee as soon as you get on to the highway.  If you happen to find a place where you can stop and they can discreetly wee behind a tree, they will need to poo
  • They will develop an insatiable and desperate thirst as soon as they realise you have no liquids in your car
  • They will not get your attempts at humour.
  • They will make you feel absolutely awful about your singing voice and knowledge of the current top 40
  • They will not stop talking at all. Unless they are shouting.
  • They will not let you sleep

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The actually party was quite a learning experience in itself.  As I left the therapists office I was able to recall these lessons

  • The indemnity forms that says go-karting is DANGEROUS should be well hidden from the mother of the party child.  It looks really bad when said mother is blowing into a brown paper bag when she is laying out the party food**
  • Do not attempt to tell your child not to worry when he’s clearly not worried but you are
  • Do not attempt to stand on a go-kart track when there is a race taking place just because you want to see your son’s smile
  • At least two of the children at the party will cry.  One will be crocodile tears.  One will be a deep emotional or physical problem.  You will invariably console the crocodile.
  • You should take a lighter for the birthday candles.  A stapler and toothbrush are really not necessary.
  • Do not attempt to bribe children with coins for the arcade games.  There is no limit to the depths of the coin slots
  • Do not have a party where  you are required to travel an hour to get home.  If you fall to such insanity make sure there is NO sugar at the party
  • Text all parents to remind them to come and collect their children at least half an hour before you need them to leave
  • Make sure that you do not inadvertently steal a platter from the venue  (okay most people wouldn’t but I did, although I like to think I just borrowed it forever)

Mr Pencil and Little Pencil say the party was great.  They had a ball.  All I can remember is that there was a lot of noise. And mess. And boys.

Next year we are going to see a movie.  Just the three of us.  But don’t tell them that – they may accuse me of being fun-phobic.

*and one girl but she was delightful and easy and made of sugar and spice and all things nice.

**If you are reading this blog and your child was at the party, I promise that they are safe now  (maybe they weren’t before but they are now) .

Filed Under: Little Pencil Tagged With: , ,

Quick!! Tidy the house, the cleaner is coming

February 18, 2010 by 27 Comments

Tomorrow is the day that my cleaning lady comes to shout at me. I could not be more excited.  I love Maria like Romeo loved Juliet, oh okay maybe not that much but I love her like she is one of my friends.  One of the helpful ones, you know – the type that clean your house and do your laundry? But the kind that shouts.  A lot.

I realise that I am very lucky to have the luxury of having someone come to clean my my house. Even if she is quite shouty.  I also realise that I pay her more than I earn myself but, I realise that she is as good a cleaner as I am a payer and I am as good a cleaner as, well I’m not a good cleaner at all.

Because of her propensity to shout, the night before Maria comes is the busiest (and most nerve wracking) night of the week.  Here is the to do list I am avoiding

  • Tidy the house so that she does not believe we are messy and slovenly.  This includes washing and drying sufficient laundry so that the laundry bin is not overflowing.  There is nothing so messy (in Maria’s eyes) as an overflowing laundry basket  (in my eyes there is nothing so messy as bad handwriting but that is a post for another day)
  • Pack away laundry.  Laundry cannot be stuffed into cupboards as she will execute a cupboard inspection when putting away the 8 laundry items left for her.  Even if the clothes are clean they must be folded neatly when put away not shoved into the cupboard thereby showing us to be messy.  Socks must be neatly paired and folded
  • Water and try to resuscitate the plant that she bought me for my birthday.  I positively hate this plant and try my hardest to ignore it all week but I cannot let it die or give it away as that would be offensive to Maria who somehow manages to bring it back to peak health each week
  • Sort out the fridge.   To me, leftovers are one of the greatest highlights of my fridge.  They prove I once catered a proper meal and they are a source of many other great meals.  Leftovers offend Maria. She regularly points out the dangers of salmonella and asks me why I didn’t eat all my vegetables.
  • Practise my smile and prepare alibis and excuses.  There is no doubt that Maria will shout at me about something.  Actually lots of things.  Last week she was angry that I changed the cycle on my own washing machine, that I had bought the incorrect stainless steel cleaner, and the fact that I dared to try and cook IN MY OWN KITCHEN.

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Seriously my best bet is to avoid my own house at all costs on a Friday.  But I will get there as Maria finishes, to pay her, hear her berate me and make sure she gets to the bus stop on time to complete her military training supervision.

Do you have someone in your life that makes you help yourself before he/she helps you?

Filed Under: My Life Tagged With: ,

Happy Birthday Little Pencil. You are killing me

February 10, 2010 by 17 Comments

Today is Little Pencil’s birthday. He is 9 and I think that there is nothing that 9 year old boys like more than their birthdays, so naturally today is a huge day for him.  Huge.  But for me, it is even bigger.

For him it is huge because he gets showered with gifts, he can eat cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner and he gets spoiled more than on any other day (believe me this takes super-human effort on my behalf – particularly hard to spoil the spoiled)

For me it is huge because my baby is 9. Nine.  I can’t believe I made nine years of motherhood and some of the people that I knew before then still speak to me.  Given that I have had MANY episodes of complete and utter meltdown since becoming a parent and I have gone from a reasonably rational corporate girl to a blithering wreck of a neurotic mother, this comes as something of a surprise to me.

Nine years ago today I began my mothering journey as a petrified mess.  Little has changed.  Nine years ago I had reason to be afraid.  I was the size of a baobab tree, filled with water and dangerously high protein levels.  My baby was being delivered by emergency caesarean ten weeks early and in, what would become my typical neurotic fashion, I thought we were both going to die.

I often still think I am going to die.  But, as my baby has grown into a boy these feelings of impending death have changed.

When I did not sleep for a year after Little Pencil’s birth, I thought I was going to die.  I was not being dramatic or anything, it was just that I thought it was humanly impossible to carry on living if you didn’t  sleep at all.  I was happy to prove that this theory is indeed wrong.   I did not sleep but I lived.  Grumpily, but I lived

It is always suggested to learn driving viagra in uk in a used car. Applicants those who are robertrobb.com viagra best price attentive for the teacher vacancies in relevant departments of the organization are advised to go for walking daily. Headaches An article in the Journal of Manipulative and Physiological Therapeutics July / August levitra no prescription my link 2000 edition. It is as useful as the branded medicine. super viagra for sale is a powerful anti-impotency medicine and men below that age should stay away from it. * Women should not take this male enhancement drug to increase their sexual libido as there are many women sexual enhancers if required. * If you take the medicine made of Sildenafil citrate. When Little Pencil had various illnesses and even surgeries I thought I was going to die.  From holding my breath and wishing so hard that it wasn’t happening.  There can be fewer worse feelings in the world than watching your child go under anaesthetic .  Or watching your child have a lumbar puncture, or blood tests or, a barium swallow or even just seeing your child sick with a high temperature.  And vomiting?  When my child vomited I really wanted to die.

When Little Pencil started child care at the age of three I thought I was going to die from heart break.  I was am an over attached mother.  Leaving Little Pencil in the care of other people for the first time was a horrendous experience.  I can still picture his huge, brown eyes following me in amazement as I walked out the door. I can still recall that lump that grew in my throat as I struggled not to cry in front of him.  I can still picture my friend’s shoulder as I sobbed onto it. I can still feel that tight hug we exchanged on my return to pick him up.

Now quite often I get the feeling that I am going to die.  I watch my child and I see the gorgeous, confident, self assured and independent boy he is despite the over-loving neuroses of both his parents and I am filled with pride and love.  Full to the point that I think I may explode.

There is no word for that feeling that fills your heart when you watch your child excel at something.  My child excels at living and my heart is constantly filled.

So, it turns out that maybe those experiences did kill me because having a son like mine is like being in heaven.

You can read more about my baby’s journey on his very own blog at www.thesmallestpencil.blogspot.com

Filed Under: Little Pencil

I wear a purple dress and bare feet

February 3, 2010 by 20 Comments

The other day I went to a magnificent beachside restaurant for lunch it was right on the water, the food was delicious and the waiters were gorgeous.  Perfect really.

So amazing was this place that there happened to be about 50 other people waiting with us to be seated – no such thing as booking a table at this place.  No sirree – because if you book by phone you cannot get assessed for the “you are what you wear” game (note that this may not be the official reason that they do not accept bookings).

The “you are what you wear game” goes something like this

You:                                       I’d like a table for 6 please

Man at Restaurant :        Sure, what’s your name?

You:                                       Lana

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The man then writes “Lana – 6” on a piece of paper but then next to that he writes a short description – purple dress, NO SHOES.  I know, I know – no shoes in a restaurant is not ideal when you are over old enough to walk but, in my defence  I had just rushed off the beach to put my name down,  I had no intention of eating lunch without shoes. But now I had been labelled as the woman with no shoes.  Would he know to call me for my table if I put my shoes on, what if I changed out of my purple dress ?  Would I miss my table if I was still Lana, but a yellow dressed well shod Lana?

After I had got over the public humiliation of being the woman with NO SHOES (in capitals – as if it deserved screaming) I got to thinking about the way we define people we have just met.  Because we all do, we define people by what they look like to some extent, it is not a judgement as such but rather a tool we use to separate one person from the next.

And today I am sitting in a different cafe, where they know my name and define me by my coffee order and the amount of time I spend sitting in their cafe clicking away on my keyboard. I come here so often that I could wear no shoes and they would not even register, and if they did they would probably give me a pair of socks to keep my feet warm.

And in the comfort of my regular cafe I realise that it is impossible to play the “you are what you wear” game in a place where you know the people.   The woman in the pink and gray dress with the pretty toenails becomes the woman with the whingeing child that used to go to child care with my friend’s son. The woman with the hanging earrings and the golden skin becomes the woman with a son in year 2 that plays the piano like Mozart and the woman with the striped shoes and the sunglasses on her head becomes the woman who once drank too much at a 40th and went home with the somebody else’s shirt.

And I realise that, although I love my local cafe, I prefer the mode of the beachside restaurant.  Because sometimes, wiping one’s history clear and just being the shoeless woman in the purple dress gives you a better chance at being who you really are and not what people expect you to be.

Filed Under: My Views

Junk mail for the 41 year old, married female (with a child and a dog)

January 27, 2010 by 13 Comments

As a writer working from home, it is important to keep looking for opportunities and, well, you know, income.  You can imagine my excitement the other day when a whole campaign of work was delivered to my junk mail folder.  The only teeny tiny problem was that it was not being offered to me as work as such.  In fact the sender actually wanted money from me.  But I, as a writer with a bit of experience in public relations and marketing, saw a way to turn this around.

The emails being sent were , well they were not well written.  They got to the point (rather fast) but they did not make an awful lot of sense and they certainly did not appeal to the average woman in the 35-45 year old married female demographic.  And so I have decided to contact the sender with my ideas.  In return they could give me bucketloads of cash or vats of little blue pills.

My task, as I assigned myself, was to take their pithy one line emails that were clearly aimed at Neanderthal, non-English speaking, sex crazed, gullible men (NESSGM) and turn them into something  that would attract the attention of a married, 41 year old English speaking mum of 1 (with a dog).  (ME)

All  NESSGM emails have been transcribed exactly (complete with spelling errors) from my junk mail folder.  I have left out the links because I do not want to give you a virus.  I mean, I hardly even know you.  You do, however get to see the new and improved emails….

OLD

Subject:  Be the inner massgist

Body:    Exaltation of having your rod ready-for-action again! This solution’s worth trying!

NEW

Subject:  Be the dinner mistress

Body:    Imagine the joy of having your dinner ready for serving every night!  Without even trying!

OLD

Subject: Improve your androgen levels

Body:    Get positive changes below the belt

NEW

Subject : Improve the way you feel about your body

Body:    We guarantee positive weight changes around the stomach area.  All you need do is sleep.  In your own bed. ALONE

OLD

Subject:  Detoxicate your body

Body: Right packs for night acts

NEW

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Body:    We will take care of all night time duties – including making dinner, clearing and washing dishes and reading bedtime stories and tucking in child

OLD

Subject: Useful potions.  Approved pillules

Body:    She’ll whisper “you’re the best”

NEW

Subject: Useful emotions.  Approved time out

Body:    He’ll whisper “it’s okay honey, I just want to tell you I love you, now sleep tight”

OLD

Subject: No fear of falling

Body: Blow her with your hormones

NEW

Subject: No fear of failing

Body:    We will come around to your home every day and provide individualised tuition and homework help to your child.  He will be blown away by the amount of fun he will have while getting through his homework

OLD

Subject: Helloween sale

Body:    Need assistance in drilling?

NEW

Subject: Holiday sale

Body:    Need assistance in escaping the daily grind?  We will take care of all the holiday plans, including return first class airfares for one, superior 5 class accommodation and calorie reducing chocolate cake served on the hour).  Husband, child and dog minding will be provided AT HOME for those left behind.

Do you think I’ll  get the gig?

Have you ever dared to open the link on one of these emails ?  Who exactly are they targeting? Massgists? Fallers? Drillers.

Filed Under: Work

What did you learn during the school holidays ?

January 21, 2010 by 5 Comments

Holidays can be tough on parents.  The 24/7 child on parent time can be fraught with Pokemon battles, squeaky Disney movies, playdates gone wrong, too much x-box time, beach sand in every crack, whingeing and late nights but it can also teach you a lot.  These are the lesson I learned these holidays

Don’t allow your son to choose his own clothes – Little Pencil has no idea of the weather conditions outside his air conditioned home.  It could be raining, it could be snowing or there could be a heat wave that incapacitates the entire Eastern seaboard.  He will wear his jeans with a giant hole in the knee and a particularly hideous t-shirt that his grandmother bought in a rash moment of utter and complete taste loss.

Don’t take other people’s children to the park – I wish I could qualify this one but my last trip to the park resulted in a broken arm (and that arm belonged to a friend whose mother no longer speaks to me.)

Don’t offer to look after 4 boys at once on the day that your cleaning lady comes – speaks for itself really.  I paid the cleaning lady to laugh at my stupidity

Take a tally of all your possessions on the beach before you ascend the 100 stairs to the car. Little Pencil loves 100 stair beach – a little harbour beach with 100 stairs that lead to the parking.  Others may describe the beach using such words as “idyllic”, “magnificent ” and “child friendly” but when you have left something on the beach in 40’ degree heat (twice) and only realise this when you get to the car (twice) , you too would call it the 100 stairs beach. And you would check your boogie board is with you when you leave the beach THE FIRST TIME.

Beach sand is immune to the showers at the beach. It does not matter how well you shower at the beach. It does not matter if you take a loofah and spend an hour under that shower you will still get sand in the car, the house and the washing machine.  There is no solution to this problem – it is just a matter of acceptance.

Megasizing your popcorn and drink at the movies can be hazardous to your health. It seemed like such a good idea to prove to Little Pencil that movies could be fun without dad.  Employing my best mothering technique (commonly referred to as bribery), I bought the biggest popcorn and drink meal deal.  Two weeks later and I am still finding popcorn kernels in my teeth and Little Pencil is still buzzing from the sugar

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But these holidays were not all about Little Pencil.  I learned some pretty good lessons of my own, lessons I should have probably learned long ago.

Don’t put Deep Radiance Gel Oil on just one leg before applying self tan – it affects the tan application.  It also affects the general look of your leg which is not a problem at all. Unless you only put it on one leg

Do not attempt to wash the toothpaste stain off your dress while the dress is on. You get very wet, so wet and foamy that all you can do is wish for a little toothpaste to absorb the moisture

Do not wear a swimming costume that has not been tried on for years (especially if you suspect there may be an elastic problem) Trust me.  You will not be at all comfortable at the beach.  And  when your husband says it is not even noticeable you will know that he is lying (especially when you feel the breeze on your bum)

Enjoy the holidays with your children Soon they will be grown up and you will miss the times you  splashed in the sea all day, sang made up songs in the car, tried your hand at skateboarding to the giggling delight of your 8 year old, ate chocolate on toast for breakfast and laughed all day at nothing at all.

What did YOU learn these school holidays?

Filed Under: Little Pencil

How I am going to cope with school this year

January 19, 2010 by 26 Comments

I remember just a couple of months ago actively counting down the last days of school, looking forward with glee to the holidays.  As much as I am “enjoying” the holidays I am trying hard to imagine why I was in such a rush to start them.  I cast my mind back and realise there were always certain activities that preceded this thinking

  • Making school lunches.  You may recall from reading a previous post, Little Pencil’s school lunch preparation is a nightmare unto itself.  Whilst rummaging in the fridge looking for suitable spreads my mind would often wander to days where lunch is eaten at home and copious amounts of peanut butter can be served with no risk of anyone dying from an anaphylactic reaction.
  • Writing love letters.  Every school day I write two notes – one to go with recess and one to go with lunch. When you try to come up with different ways of saying “have a lovely day and I love you”, twice a day, 5 days a week, 7 weeks at a time – you will get where I am coming from.
  • Getting to school. Little Pencil loves school.  He has absolutely no issues about spending the day with his friends at all.  But getting him there?  Another story.  There is always something on TV that he has to watch before he can brush his teeth, some paragraph he has to finish before he can put on his clothes, some song he has to sing before he can eat his breakfast, some game he has to finish before he gets in the car, some story he has to tell me before he gets out of the car.  
  • Washing uniforms. I often dream of what bodily harm I could inflict on the person that decided a white school shirt was a brilliant idea for a little boy.  I am sure that I would be excused by any court of law when I find that person and tattoo him with texta, stain his body with cranberry juice and then smudge his face so that each freckle obtains a new and more absurd colour.  Little Pencil has a white school shirt.  Bad?  Yes.  But it gets worse.  The white school shirt has the school emblem on the pocket and in the infinite wisdom of the uniform manufactures this emblem cannot be bleached.  Well it can.  But this results in the most hideous cacophony of colours that you have ever had the misfortune of seeing right there on his chest – where the emblem would have been if you had never bleached the shirt.
  • Supervising homework. I used to think that I was a patient mum, a tolerant and understanding mother that had the benefit of a background in education and could really help my child with his literacy and learning.  That was before I had to supervise my own child’s homework.  Hello tedium!  Maybe it is the fault of the people who assign the boringly mind-numbing homework, maybe it is because the poor child has already been concentrating for 7 hours at school or maybe I am just an impatient person who would rather scrub moss off rocks in the garden than watch my child write out spelling words ad nauseum while moaning that his wrist hurts.  Oh and did I mention that I hate messy work and that my son is a boy and he is 8 and mostly his work is messy?

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So this year I have decided to try something new in order to really maximise my enjoyment of the school year.

  • Lunch will be ordered from the canteen EVERY SINGLE DAY.  The funding for this exercise will come from the monies raised when we sell the love letters from last year for other suckers mothers to use.  (Could be tricky finding a mother that has the same neuroses as me and a child of the same name but we will persevere)
  • I am going to scotch guard Little Pencil’s jumpers and make him wear a jumper over his shirt every day, regardless of weather conditions.  I understand scotch guarding clothes is not the norm but I am not sure why.  I will wipe his jumper down once a week (although I suspect that it will walk away be itself at the end of week 2)
  • I am going to lock myself in the laundry during homework time.  There is no way anyone in this house is going to enter the laundry so they will never find me.  I will still be there when it is time to get ready for school

Do you have any resolutions for the school year?  Can you share them?  I might just adopt them if I get out of the luandry

Filed Under: Little Pencil
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