Damn you, volcanic ash cloud!

Lisa went over to London yesterday for the press launch of Britain’s Got Talent. And got stuck there, due to huge clouds of volcanic ash which have caused airports to shut down all over the UK.

At the moment, it looks like it may be Saturday or later before she can fly home. Luckily, her sister lives in London, so she has a place to stay until such times as flights are allowed to resume again.

It was only when I tried to explain to the children what had happened that I realised how sci-fi the whole thing sounded. “It’s these volcanos in Iceland,” I said. “What, the shop?” asked Jake. “No, Iceland the country. The smoke from the volcano has formed a gigantic cloud and all that smoke is blowing toward our country. And because the smoke and dust is dangerous to planes, all flights are cancelled until the air clears.”

It does sound a little bit post-apocalyptic, doesn’t it?

This means it’s been a stressful week back in the house. It’s virtually been me, on my own for the last five or six days. I’ve cooked dinners, done school runs, built new bunk beds for the boys, and much more in between. What I haven’t managed is getting any work done. That’s been virtually impossible.

I could moan. I want to. I suppose the consequence of being stranded at home is a feeling of utter isolation. The kids have been great, but I haven’t spoken to an adult in ages. There’s a certain satisfaction in taking care of the housework and maintaining a degree of stability in the household, but – is this it?

But by the same token, I’m fairly sure I’m doing a good job on my own. It’s just impossible to get any work done, and that’s my biggest concern at the moment.

The perks of being the eldest child

Lisa and I are both the eldest children in our respective families. Both of us can remember that there are special perks associated with being the eldest.

In my case, every Saturday night, my Dad would slip out of the house and bring back fish suppers for him and my Mother, then they’d call me down as well for my share. My two sisters would be innocently sleeping upstairs while I, the eldest, was able to munch away on junk food. And I don’t think they ever found out!

Lisa remembers similar benefits of being the oldest daughter in her house. The getting to stay up late, special treats, and an extra special bond with her Mother were some of the perks she had.

We find the tradition is continuing into our time as parents. We’re sitting in the house tonight, watching TV and drinking a nice bottle of red wine. At one point, the munchies hit us, and I fired up the chip pan to make a quick, unhealthy snack. As I was making it, I could hear a bit of bumping about upstairs and surmised that Rachel was still awake. She’s been reading herself to sleep lately, but tonight she was obviously still wide awake and messing around in her room.

So, I hissed up the stairs “…are you still awake? Come out here now!” She wasn’t even remotely worried about being in trouble, so I asked her if she fancied some chips. She bolted down the stairs in case I changed my mind, and I presented her with a small plate already libarally sprinkled in vinegar. She dashed into the living room and nestled herself between Lisa and I and munched away while Lisa caught up on Dancing On Ice.

The whole time, she wittered away, chatting about the show. She loves Dancing On Ice, and she was happy to babble and talk away. Sitting there in her stripy pajamas, Rach was in her element, all smiles and giggles until it was time for bed again, then she disappeared again without too much fuss.

Isn’t it great being the eldest? Do you have any memories of times your parents gave you a treat?

A Walk With Rachel

It seems I hardly spend much time with Rachel. If I’m going out somewhere, it’s usually the boys who come with me, and mostly Daniel.

So, how surprised was I when I suggested she come out for a walk with me, and she didn’t go absolutely nuts. Normally, such an innocuous request would be met with a fit of hysterics, making it pointless to even bother dragging her out the front door. But on Sunday, she placidly nodded her head and said, “Yeah, it’d be nice to get some fresh air.” Then wandered off to get her coat.

Normally, I take a fairly long walk out round the fields where we live, so I took her in that direction. We rambled down the road, intermittently chatting and sometimes falling into silence. Rach was busily inspecting the changes in the countryside because of the impending winter – I showed her the apple trees where the crab apples were rotting on the ground where they’d fallen weeks ago.

She spent an inordinate amount of time ripping ivy leaves from the trees and chucking them at me, but was a little more intrigued when we took a walk down to the old railway tracks. We had a nosey around underneath the bridge and she spent some time craning her neck to see further up the tracks.

Later, when we were walking back into town, she sweet-talked me into an impromptu trip to the park, where she played until the threat of rain became too great. Watching her play in the park reminded me of the times I took her to the park as a baby, pushing her on the swings and counting to 10 each time, her giggling all the time. And now, she’s more than half my height, looking up at me with smiling brown eyes and chatting away easily.

I like to try and spend a little one-on-one time with each of the kids now and again. Sometimes when they’re all together, they’re frenzied, noisy and it’s impossible to get them to sit still long enough to chat to. When you get them seperated from the pack, you get a chance to get to know them, and it’s surprising some of the stuff they’ll chat about – friends, school, things that are going on within the family.

Does anybody else do this kind of thing?

An evening walk with Jake

Of all our children, Jake is a wiry young fellow. Something about him is wildly energetic, and I’ve always felt that when he becomes grumpy at home, it’s because he’s bored and needs to stretch his legs.

Last night, after his friend had gone home for the evening, I noticed Jake looking grumpy and lost. Rather than allow him to wallow in his bad mood, I told him to put on his coat and we’d go for a walk. We live on the edge of town, and as we leave our street, there’s a little loop road that leads us out of town and back in again. A short walk of about an hour in total.

After finally, after wrestling the reluctant youngster into his coat, we left the house. There was a moment of near-mutiny when he realised we weren’t taking the car, but Jake’s generally quite pliable and we started off on our walk.

It’s funny how good a short walk is. Within minutes of leaving our street, Jake was holding my hand and walking at a brisk pace, all the time jabbering away about any topic that came into his head. He was amused at the fading light, as it got darker the further we walked.

There’s an especially treacherous spot on the way back into town where there’s no footpath and oncoming cars appear quickly. A few times, we had to jump up onto a muddy verge to avoid the traffic, getting our boots filthy. eventually, less than an hour later, we arrived home. It was nice to take that bit of alone time with Jake and get some fresh air together. This is something I’m hoping to build into my routine with all of the children over time, because I think it’s important to get away from all of the distractions around the house – TV, games consoles, friends and family and just send some time relaxing and getting exercise.

More Boys Than Girls Are Being Born In The World

I read an article today about world birth rates and the fact that the amount of males born is signigicantly higher than the amount of females. It made for very interesting reading, and pointed out that this skewed birth rate is causing problems in some countries (such as China) where men are beginning to find that there just aren’t enough women to go around.
Reading the piece reminded me of my feelings and concerns when I found out that I was expecting my sons.

When I was growing up I always imagined a family with at least 2 or 3 daughters, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a son.

When I found out that I was pregnant with a boy during my second pregnancy I was slightly nervous. I wondered if I could parent a boy, I imagined a crazy toddler turning into a surly young man who is conditioned to bottle up his emotions and remain difficult to reach.

Everyone I spoke to with sons disagreed. Each and every person told me that wee girls are much harder work, they want to rule the house, while boys are much more placid and easy going.

To date my experience has been immensely positive and I can’t believe I was ever worried. My three children are all precious to me, it makes no difference what gender they happen to be.

I think my concerns must have stemmed from the fact I have two sisters very close in age to me, my brothers are a lot younger, one has yet to reach his teenage years. As my father was not around for most of my childhood, my experience of family life was very much a female orientated one.

I am lucky to have an excellent husband who is very much involved in the childrens lives. This will hopefully come in useful in those teenage years, when embarrassing topics have to be broached, and my son may not actually want my input into his love life, or romantic crises. And I am now wise enough to realise that my daughter is unlikely to want to confide in me about her first love or hot crushes either. Surly teenage behaviour is not limited to the males of our species, I can all too well remember the trouble I gave my own mother!

My sister is currently 5 months pregnant and strangely, experiencing exactly the same worries as I did, way back when. I am trying to give her the benefit of my experience, but I know that once the baby is born, no matter what the sex is, she will realise for herself, what a precious gift a baby is, and that sex is irrelevant to the love you feel for that person who is piece of you.

Being Dad: What does it take?

I discovered a terrific thread on Ask Metafilter that asks “What does it take to be a Dad?”

For me, my father spent a lot of time working to make ends meet, but from the hazy childhood memories I do have, we did spend quite a bit of time together.

Having said that, during my teenage years, I strove to be the exact opposite of my father. I hated his smoking and vowed I would never fall into that trap (even now). He worked as a bricklayer and was adamant that I should educate myself and avoid this kind of hard labour.

Back then, he had an occassional bad temper, but he’s mellowed in later years. Unfortunately, I’ve inherited the volatility.

However, I’ll always remember the Saturdays. On Saturday, I used to help out as he cleaned chimneys around the town, talked to old ladies and supped cups of tea. Those were great days…