A lesson I didn’t teach my son

My eldest boy, Nathan, cried himself to sleep tonight. And when I say cried, I mean he sobbed. Loudly. With big tears rolling down his cheeks and noises that occur when one is simultaneously heartbroken and desperately trying to stifle the pain.

I held him on my lap for a long time. His long, 8 year old legs wrapped around me and his face buried into my shoulder. It’s not regular behaviour for him. Not much really affects him. He’s unusually pragmatic for a primary school kid, so I really feel for him when he’s upset. I just could not work out WHY.

We’ve had my little two and a half year old nephew with us today. Three boys in the house is actually not too bad. My boys are really patient with their cousin and love to just hang out with him. But sometimes, even though he’s a really good boy, we forget that our house is no longer ‘toddler proof’. And we are most often ‘reminded’ by something going wrong. And something went wrong tonight. Clearly more wrong than I initially thought.

Rest in peace, Sticky Slinky x

One of Nathan’s little toys was broken. Beyond repair kind of broken. It was a piece of crap in my opinion. A little man made of that horrible sticky stuff that you can throw against a wall and it will ‘climb’ down. Like a slinky but sticky. A sticky slinky man. I could NOT see the big deal about his 'death by toddler' but what Nathan sobbed to me, took me by surprise.

“I worked so hard to get him, Mum”

Wait... What?

We don’t do pocket money here yet. We believe kids should help out around the house as part of their contribution to the family and it’s only for things ‘above and beyond’ the call of duty that they should earn money for and there’s not much of that required. Plus, we just don’t think young kids need to have their own money. I’m not saying it’s the right way or the wrong way, it’s just our way. We try to create opportunities for them to earn ‘experiences’, like “if we all weed the garden we can go to the park” or something like that. So I couldn’t understand what the hell he was talking about when he told me he’d worked for something.

I racked my foggy, pinot gris brain for a memory of him working for Sticky Slinky and came up with nothing. And then, through the fog, I remembered. He brought Sticky Slinky home from a party he went to on the weekend. An Intensity party. Where the kids go along and get unlimited access to ‘arcade’ games for a couple of hours. Games which produce tickets depending on your skill levels. Ergo, the better you are at the game, the more tickets you get and the more tickets you get, the better your redemption rate.

Are you still with me?

Nathan ‘worked HARD’ earning those tickets. He teamed up with his best mate and they worked a system out to get the maximum number of tickets possible and then they took their ‘earnings’ to the 15 year old gatekeeper who told them what they could ‘buy’ with their loot. Turns out Sticky Slinky required the most amount of tickets. And now he’s dead. And Nathan is devastated.

And that’s how, without me even trying, my son learned the value of working for something. 

What's a lesson your kid has learned that you didn't teach them?

Big dreams in little bodies

It's been a big week for the boys.

School's back and that means the return of routine, early morning, get-ready fights, book covering and reunited friends. 

Nathan is doing cricket, tennis and swimming this term. He also starts pre-season soccer training. He just got back from a weekend away, boogie boarding with his best mate at Middleton. I ribbed him when he got home, his hair stiff with salt and sand still in his eyebrows "So, did you get sick of Charlie while you were there?". He looked at me, simultaneously perplexed and disgusted... 

"Mum. He's my best friend. You don't get sick of your best friend". Boom. 

Nathan's not much of a socialiser, unless it involves sport. So this year, again, he has opted to forego a birthday party for a trip to Melbourne to watch his beloved Blues instead. He's heavily campaigning that Charlie goes too. We've got a couple of months to work all that out but Nathan's a planner. He's really keen to start making some connections at the club because he intends to be drafted before he turns 18. Which, of course, means we will need to move to Melbourne. He understands that it could be difficult for Stefan to leave school though, so he's already in discussion with his Aunty Pauline to move in with her until we're ready to follow him over there. Righto. 

Then, over dinner this week, he announced that it was probably time for him to start working in the family business. Which, of course, is our hope too but we were expecting him to finish school first. He made a reasonable case that he could work part-time and even from home if the business would supply him with a lap-top and a phone. He could help pack wine but he doesn't have a forklift licence, so he probably couldn't do that yet. Mark said he's discuss with the board and get back to him. 

Meanwhile Stefan is, as always, travelling to the beat of his own drum. As he sat at the breakfast bar watching me cook dinner this week he asked when I would allow him to get a tattoo. He thought he might like one on his arm to begin with and thinks a dragon might be appropriate. I've always known his penchant for pictures on his skin as he's been doing his own texta tattoos since he was a baby. I was taken aback though, that he is keen on piercings too. He calls them screws. Screws in the skin. Sigh. 

I told him that we would talk about it later which he seemed to accept. His next request was for a blue mohawk. Are you picturing what I am? My beautiful boy with the sides of his head shaved, a bright blue spikey strip down the middle, a dragon sleeve on his arm and screws coming out of his face. 

I wonder if he will still sneak into my bedroom in the morning, hold my face in his hands and kiss me, whispering 'I love you mum' while he thinks I'm sleeping. 

He has no plan to play footy or live in Melbourne with his brother. He talks about having lunch with me at the Eiffel Tower and he fiercely disagrees with Nathan that Psy is the best singer in the world. "Adele has the best voice. Ever. Even better than Michael Jackson. Because he's dead." He told me, on the way home from a trip to the beach where Mark and the boys did some body surfing in the shallows, that he was going to teach his kids to do that too. "When I'm a Tato [dad], I'll stay with them in the water until they know how to do it. They'll love that Mum. They're gonna love me" 

Time has a way of creeping up on you. It can steal your plans and hijack your dreams and slap you in the face with stinging reality.

I'm excited that my boys can see their futures. I'm proud that they're navigating their way through life and setting goals for authentic journeys. It warms my heart that they value good friendships and understand the important things that parents do and see no shame in loving. 

I just wish that time would slow down a little. 

Am I happy that my sons share their dreams and have these conversations with me? Absolutely. 

I just didn't expect them to be 7 and 5 when they did.

In a minute

I went back to work today after two weeks home with the family for the holidays. On the quiet, blissful drive into the city, I thought about all the things I was sick of saying and sick of hearing. I can write about it calmly and with perspective because I'm alone at the moment. 

I have no need to repeat myself. Again. And again. 

There is no need to raise my voice or stamp my foot or slam my open palm on the kitchen bench yelling 'that's enough!' 

I have no urge to mutter 'for fuck's sake' through my clenched teeth while breathing in long, slow and deep breaths. 

I am not hiding behind the locked bathroom door to escape the madness for a couple of minutes and I am not glaring at my husband's back as he is doing something so important on his iPhone/iPad/iMac/iSuck that he seems not to hear the madness.

Lalalalalala... I may open a bottle of wine and raise my glass to the silence.


Top 10 most repeated things I've said this summer so far:

"In a minute"

"You have 5 more minutes"

"Sit properly at the table"

"Don't hit your brother"

"No"

"Brush your teeth"

"One... two.... " [I don't often get to three but when I do...]

"Now with your manners"

"Shut the back door"

"Wash your hands"


Top 10 most repeated things I've heard this summer so far:

"I'm bored"

"What can we do now?"

"No"

"Why not?"

"You promised!"

"It's not fair"

"Can we go to...?"

"When?"

"Mum"

"He hit me!"


I plan to say more of:

"Ask your father"

"Yes"

"Have fun"

"See you when I get back"

What about you? What are you sick to death of saying??

This is a true story

I have not cooked my family dinner tonight. I have also not made any other arrangements. I am on family strike.

I'm tired and I'm premenstrual and I worked today. Nothing too stressful and during school hours but it was work nonetheless. I then dropped into a couple of shops on the way home to make arrangements for my HUSBAND'S business Christmas dinner that I am organising. In my spare time. I came home and returned a few emails, made a couple of calls, emptied the dishwasher and then I picked up the kids from school.

And that's when it all went to hell.

"I don't want to go to school tomorrow Mum. I'm too tired"
"Why can't I go on the iPad?"
"It's not fair"
"I don't want to watch THAT I want to watch THIS"
"I don't have ANY homework"
"I have to go on YouTube for my homework"
"I don't want an apple, I want chocolate"
"If he's having chocolate, I want chocolate too."
"I'm not eating dinner"
"You never listen to me"
"I don't want to change out of my uniform"
"I'm not turning the tv down. I can't hear it"
"I don't have to empty out my school bag. You can do it"

All these things were said to me this afternoon. Said with attitude. Lots of school boy attitude. In response to my requests. Cajoles. Demands. Threats.

And then something clicked. 

Remember Sheriff Rambo Harry Down? Well, she just poured herself a big glass of wine and rode into town. Yes, drinking and riding. She's that bad-ass.

"Is that right? Well how about this. You can do whatever you want. I have nothing more to say to you tonight. You can eat what you want. You can do what you want. You both seem to think that you know best. Well let's give that a go."

And I have not said a word to them since. I did not respond when they repeatedly chanted they were going to watch the verboten Harry Potter II. I did not flinch when they ran to the iPad to download whatever it is they covet. I didn't bat an eyelid when they opened a packet of chips for dinner.

Because Mum is on strike and the Sheriff is sitting in the corner, drinking her wine and whistling.

Breathing, boxes and chocolate

My kids ask the most random questions. Out of nowhere they'll ask me about snot. Or why does that man have boobs. Or why the skin-colour crayon isn't the colour of anyone's skin in our family. Or who makes cars. Or why do I wee sitting down, out of my bum. Or what's the word on the street and where is it.

Not long ago, Stefan threw this one at me from the back of the car while I was driving. It's where my boys and I have some of our best conversations. I suspect it's because I'm a captive audience. How do you handle the tough questions? I like to give just enough truth to feel as though I'm teaching them something, without feeling too uncomfortable and then distract them. With chocolate. Yes. I'm an awesome mum.


S “Mum, why do we breathe?”

M “Because the air has oxygen in it and we need oxygen in our body to keep us going” TICK

S “But you can’t breathe when you’re dead”

M “Well, no because that’s how we know when someone is dead. They stop breathing." TICK

S “No Mum, that’s not why. It’s because you’re underground in a box and you can’t breathe under the earth in a box”

M .....silence. UH OH

S “Is djido [grandpa] in a box?”

M “yes” SHORT AND DIRECT

S “Is he in the ground?”

M “yes” DO NOT ELABORATE

S “I want to get him out of the ground. What if he’s trying to breathe?”

M “He’s not trying to breathe honey. Djido is dead and it’s ok for him to be in the ground.” TICK [but hands are sweaty]

S “Well, I don’t want him there alone. I want to get him. Can we get everyone up out of the ground?”

M “No Stefan, we shouldn’t bother them. It’s why there’s a saying that goes “Rest in Peace”. OH FFS! HAVEN'T YOU HEARD OF PET SEMETARY????

S “Mum. They’re not resting and they’re not in peace. They’re dead”

M “Do you want some chocolate?” SIGH... JOB WELL DONE.