cosmicgirlie

spouting all the crap you never say out loud.

Parenting Skillz

Yeah, I’m still a school snob.

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I can’t help it. I stand in the school playground every morning, waiting for Noah’s “buddy” to take him into school. When I look around, I see kids pushing and shoving, grabbing clothes and swinging them round with them, riding scooters into people with no apology, and the parents seem oblivious. I see kids who look like they’ve been wearing the same uniform, unwashed, all week. (It’s Thursday.)

Is this “kids growing up”? This is acceptable behaviour, right? It’s “what they do”, right?

In my eyes, wrong.

I think perhaps I’ve been spoiled by what I saw at The Small’s private school. The brilliant behaviour of the kids. The politeness and manners of ALL the students. The pride they take in their appearance. The respect they show other people, adults and children alike. Some would say it’s a dreamworld; I say it’s perfectly doable. And I know it is because a) they did it before, and b) they did it themselves last year.

I’ve noticed fucking BIG CHANGES in Noah this year. He’s more shouty, much more ignorant, becoming incredibly bossy and a know-it-all. I know staff at the school don’t put him in his place; his teacher, Miss L is LOVELY, but I know her approach re. discipline is much softer than what he would endure at Private School. I know that, whilst they learn about manners and respect, it’s a much gentler stance, than pretty much telling the children, straight of the bat, that bullshit is just not tolerated.

There’s a big difference between “not acceptable” and “not tolerated”.

I recall when we went to Private School open day, the Headmaster pretty much made a point of telling us that parents are called in if children fuck about. Whilst this terrified me, I loved the thought at the same time.

Discipline.

It’s a big thing for me.

I’m also very wary that Isaac isn’t learning the same things Noah was learning this time last year. By this time, Noah could just about blend CVC words, knew all his phonics and with some help on units of 10, could count to 100. Isaac…well, Isaac has learned the names of lots of dinosaurs, thanks to numerous colouring books and apps I’ve bought him.

The Smalls 2

So with the help of the iPad, I, myself at home, have taught him numbers to 100, all his phonics, and have him blending CV words, with a firm shove towards CVC. I would stop if he didn’t enjoy it; and yet every time I offer to sit and read with him, or have him read to me, he jumps at the chance.

The boy is a natural bookworm.

He doesn’t get this at school/nursery. And even more frustrating, is it’s just that; nursery. 3 hours of play each morning, which if it wasn’t for me desperately trying to get work done, he could do here at home.

And then comes something which I have no idea how to deal with. Mostly because it happens on my level as much as (it should do on) The Small’s level; I want to be around people who aspire to go places. To do something. To be someone. So many of the parents and kids would talk about the things they had planned to do, where they aimed to go in life, and were very, very successful. They were people who I could look at and say “fuck yeah, I have that kind of determination, too. I want to succeed in what I do as well.” I’m not looking for fame, fortune would be nice, but lord knows, I don’t want to be scrabbling around, not really having a clue where I’m going. I’m headstrong, and so are my boys. So were most of the people I saw at Private School. They were going somewhere.

Isaac letter train Noah letter train

The aim is to get them back into Private School in the long run. Whether it will happen, I don’t know. My business blooms every month, and I’m so fucking excited with where it’s going. I just wonder if this situation will be a continuation of most of MY life story; the opportunity is there, I can see where I want things to go, but a thousand things beyond my control prevent me getting there.

For now, I will guide and guide and guide. I will probably break myself in trying to make sure My Boys stay ahead of the game by teaching what I can at home. I will continue to nurture their manners, their pride in themselves, their good behaviour. I will try to teach them more of the French and Spanish they had been learning before, and keep them enthused with books and colouring and creativity and using their minds, showing them how to push their boundaries.

And me, well. I’ll try not to succumb to playing the lottery 4 times a week.

The Smalls 1

“Yummy Mummy” my arse.

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I’ve never been the Yummy Mummy type. For a long time (pre children, obviously), I envied those I perceived to be the sort. Preened and pressed kiddos, perfectly spoken, well nourished, rarely misbehaving. She was super-skinny, immaculate at EVERY HOUR of the goddamn day, had time to put the world and Jupiter to rights, and had about 17 frillion meals cooked from scratch, each and every week. (Her freezer contains every meal you can think of. Her fridge, alongside the single unopened bottle of wine, contains every raw ingredient you could imagine.)

I dunno why I envied her, especially as she didn’t bloody-well EXIST.

I very rarely manage any of the above, and it’s a special day for flying pork goods if I was able to coincide two or more of these events.

And then fuck me, Friday afternoon, some crazy shit did happen right in my house.

Every week, we’re really crap at getting through all the food we buy. I don’t know why; I think we do that whole Best Intentions thing, lots of raw ingredients, and then the week goes to piss. The Mr works away, I have a client booking, we want to be shit-faced – whatever. Don’t get me wrong, we do cook some fucking ace meals, as my instagram feed will tell you. And I’ll even make an effort for The Smalls when I can be bothered remember.

That day? Friday? After an impressively stress-filled week? I made their lunches as usual, while they ate breakfast. Not sandwiches, haphazardly slapped with jam, ohhhh no. No. I cooked pasta. And sausages. And peas. Threw it all in together, and into their little lunch tubs, along with all the other bits and pieces, in time for school. Huh.

And then that evening? I not only herded them BACK into the car to get a chippy tea, but I also did lunch for Saturday (since I was off shooting, I thought I’d make it easier on The Mr). Not just any old tea, no. On looking in the fridge, I found lamb meatballs. Soooo…I made rosemary and minted lamb meatball stew thing. With, like, prepared vegetables and EVERYTHING. And I made sure there were potatoes sorted for shepherd’s pie that evening. Soooo….no one needed to cook anything until Sunday lunchtime.

Now, I’m all for keeping the universe balanced and all that shit. So while they ate their fish and chips, I plonked their backsides on a picnic mat in front of Ben & Holly. It’s taken them twice as long to eat, and I had to pause it twice and yell at them to keep chewing before it gets too cold.

I feel better now. Especially as I stole Isaac’s mini fish because he was stuffed full of chips. And of course, the kitchen is still a spectacular shit tip.