We are Family

The serial Christmas Show-watching has drawn to a close. My highlights of the week:

1. Street-dancers, Secondary School Show - bums 'n' boobs, thrust 'n' jerk! - in the faces of the audience of middle-aged parents. Crikey.

2. Eleven year old boy band, same show, crooning ‘I lost my way, oh yeah, the lonely path, oh oh oh’ (‘Marmite soldiers for breakfast please, Mummy!’)

3. Inaudible Brownie Show ‘The Pnshs Oun’, that's all I know.

4. The shocking BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST of Bonnie’s brass and wind concert: thirty beginner trumpets and clarinets in concert…but not in control. Very frightening.

Now it's just us, time to be together, reconnect. Snow underfoot (what a treat!), arms linked as we stomp across the Heath, then home to a roaring coal fire, tree twinkling, cocoa and muffins, ‘Mummy, do read us a story!’ ‘Yes, darlings, gather round!…Once upon a time...’ We are family.

Seriously, I entered the holiday so SICK of telling them all what to do since September (get up! go to bed! pick it up! eat it! stop eating! do your homework!) I decided to chill, man, after all this is the twenty-first century, things have changed - why would anyone want to make a horrible Christmas decoration when they could be shooting squeaky blobby things? ‘You can do whatever you like’ I said with the magnanimity of one who is about to get two weeks of quality time alone, and they vanished to log on. I closed the kitchen door: haha! I get it now!

But guess what – we can bicker with all the computers and tellies on, as well as off!

‘Mummy! It’s my turn on the computer. Alfie won’t come off!’
‘She can use the laptop!’
‘The laptop’s rubbish -tell him to get off!’
‘Wait! I’m in the middle of a level!’
‘Five minutes Alfie – be patient Bonnie!’
‘You always take Alfie’s side!’
‘No I don’t - I’m just trying to teach you to be a nice person, Bonnie’
‘You are teaching me to be a nice person badly!’
‘What about the wii, Bonnie – why don’t you go on that?’
‘Maddy won’t let me’
‘Hey - that’s because you always promise to put it away then don’t!’
‘That’s not true Maddy – you got it out first!’
‘You used it last, and it’s mine anyway!’
‘It’s not fair, I can’t buy anything because I haven’t got any money’
‘Bonnie, that’s because you spend it all!’
‘No it’s because horrible Mummy fines me all the time for nothing!’
‘Hey Mummy! She took my chair, I only went to the loo!’
‘It’s my turn anyway! Haha! OW! OW! Mummy! MUMMY!!! He hit me!!’
‘She stole my chair!’ and on..and on.. and on.

The screens rule came crashing down. ‘SWITCH IT OFF! AND THAT! AND THAT! OFF! OFF! OFF! NO SCREENS TILL 3PM!’

So Alfie set about entertaining himself:
‘I’m bored. What can I do?’
‘Read your book!’
‘I don’t know where it is’
‘Look for it, and look properly, don’t just stand still and swivel your eyes about!’
‘Mm.. I’m bored. What can I do?’
‘Empty the dishwasher’ (he is a Junior Citizen now after all).We negotiated a price of 75p
‘You should do chores anyway!!’
So he began, lifting one small plate: ‘Where does this go?’
‘In the left hand cupboard’
‘Where’s the cupboard?’
‘In front of you. Those are the cupboards’
‘What’s the left?’
‘The left cupboard. The cupboard that is on the left.’
‘Where?’
(OK, calm down, you can do this).‘What hand do you write with, Alfie?’
‘Um…um…this one!’
‘That’s your left hand... So put the plate in the left-hand cupboard!’…
’Mummy, where does this go…?’ Jesus.

Bonnie can pass twenty minutes or so providing I’m prepared to hoover glitter off the ceiling, and I tricked Alfie into decorating a yule log by inviting a friend of his who likes that sort of thing, but he got his own back: ‘Look Mummy, Father Christmas’s head is in the chocolate butter-cream, and the reindeer’s on his bum ha ha ha!’ ‘Now now boys, don’t be silly!! Let’s just take Santa out and wash his head’.

We did have the snow: ‘Alfie you must stand at least one metre away from Bonnie when you throw compacted snowballs at her face’. But in the main, it’s been hard-going – and still three days to go..

Poor Alan’s working right up to Christmas Eve ‘Sorry Soph, someone has to do it’ (punching the air), and partying after work most nights with some TLA (Three Letter Acronym) or other: ‘RSM tonight – just got to show my face’ (home at midnight) – or worse still, ‘I’ll be home for something to eat’, slipping in as I’m letting rip the final tender goodnights ‘THAT’S IT – YOU’RE NOT GETTING A TUCK IN!’, to boozily fill me in on his plans to offer a human resources service to the entire galaxy by 2012, while I nod and think ‘I forgot the pink shrimps for your stocking’.

Forty Winks

The trouble with loving child-free hours with the kind of passion usually associated with..um..child-filled hours, especially now that bedtime for Josie and Maddy seems to be when-they-decide-o’clock, is that I have to stay up really late for a fix of unencumbered pottering. The resulting daytime sleep deficit means that I tend to nod off at important moments in my childrens’ lives. This does not look good on me.

For one, I accompanied Josie to her first 6th form Open Day recently, which entailed hopping and shuffling along (bags and coats were my job) in the wake of my lovely girl as she strode forth into her new life, delicately, shyly smiling around her and lobbing back showers of leaflets for the old crow to snatch at with a wizened claw. Eventually we sat down for the head teacher’s sales pitch - with a friend of Josie’s, also with mum in tow, whom I politely greeted (wishing I was more shabby chic than shabby shit) and blow me it wasn’t five minutes before I’d nodded off, head in lap!

I can only explain the next inappropriate sleeping incident as an unconscious refuge from a ghastly situation; I’d booked Bonnie onto a fashion drawing workshop with her friend only to discover that I was to be the fashion model (‘Do a pose! Hands on hips and throw your head back!’). Silk purse and sow’s ear came to mind (oh, Mummy, you don’t really look beautiful’); my best bet was a seated pose hiding awkwardly beneath my designer bonnet (accessories were provided). Next thing was a tap on the leg ‘You’re not supposed to be asleep!’ (the instructor).

Now then, playing Maid of Honour to Bonnie as she prepared for her Tudors assembly - the elaborately twisted hair, the phone calls to a friend (got to look the same), the white lies ‘that scarf turns your best party dress into an exact Jane Seymour lookalike, it really does!’ – were all par for the course. But when the call came from school because Bonnie had lost the whole costume on the way to school and was 'upset' (what d'you want me to do about it?) I was obliged to ricochet around (pant, pant) piecing together a duplicate costume, run to school (puff, puff) with it - I guess I was all done in by the time I sat down to watch the actual performance, and it was all snug and warm...before I knew it the Head was thanking us for coming!

So after all that, I was in deep doggy-do for having no recollection of the assembly at all. But never mind, at the next week's music concert, I made a point of waving like a nut to my little treasures on the stage - to prove I was alert and raring to watch, listen and learn. I needn’t have worried; the music centre’s policy of introducing children to improvisation before they’ve learnt to write their name, and the resulting tuneless peeps and toots (audience nodding and ‘digging’ it, of course), always causes a forbidden hysteria to bubble up in my chest which I have to close my eyes to control, certainly no chance of a nap. Nor at Josie’s concert the next evening, for I was just settling down for a little shut eye in the Senior Guitars when Bonnie began asking loudly and repeatedly for snacks, and jumping violently off the rickety scaffolding supporting the audience seating (thud) just as the extremely talented jazz trumpeter who was supposed to be inspiring Bonnie to practice her trumpet was doing his thing. She climbed up behind me and whacked me on the shoulders ‘BOO!’ and it was home time for us: ‘Go to bed, Bonnie’. ‘No, you go to bed Mummy - you’re the one who’s always ‘so tired’…'Yes, I should' I said, 'but I just have a little pottering to do first...’

Summer Fair

I love the school Summer Fair! And this year, I was selling my own home-made ice-cream at it! I was terribly short of sleep, mind you, having spent way too much time the night before engaged in exercise of the middle-aged kind: shoving, pinching, and slapping on the head my special, but snoring, partner for life. Finally I'd yelled in his ear-hole 'YOU ARE SNORING LIKE A PIG!' but to no avail.

Still, the day of the Fair is always a great skive 'Got to do my bit for the school, Alan!' (all day!) 'Don’t forget the children like pancakes for breakfast at the weekend, then recycling centre, homework – there’s a list…..' Love it. But this year I messed up! I sent Alan to the shops as we were out of shuttlecocks and tennis balls with which to festoon neighbouring gardens, and then remembered I'd booked a Tesco delivery, so was stuck at home waiting for that. I was going to be late for my own sales pitch! (I mean fund-raising activity)

Eventually I made it to school. The caretaker had decided that rather than stick his nose in where it was wanted, he’d continue his lie-in until all the heavy work was done, but dragging a freezer two hundred metres was a small price to pay for advertising my ice-creams and I was ready to trade as the gates opened. It was a sweltering hot day, so I introduced a ruthless no-melt lid-shutting policy (‘Mind your fingers – SLAM!’) when I realised I could make a batch of mango in the time it took a toddler to choose their favourite flavour. My own children seemed to be remarkably happy being left to their own devices and using my ice-cream takings as a cash-point, so I left them to it and before long, I'd sold out.

We were all tired and tetchy when we got home. Alan was dealing with his work-life balance, sipping tea in the middle of the Tesco’s shopping, sizing up how ‘I don’t know where anything goes’ would work as an excuse for leaving it covering the floors of two rooms all day. Concluding that it would jeopardise tomorrow’s golf he pretended to unpack something already on a shelf while reading Car on the sly. Bonnie began her very loud singing reserved for driving Alfie mental and getting him out of the room, so he joined me in the toilet and out of sheer boredom began firing shuttlecocks with deadly accuracy at my forehead ‘BonnieAlfieMaddyAlfie! Stop it!’ I squarked with what dignity I could muster while forgetting his name with my pants down.

At last the children were in bed and we could resume our affable banter about TV choices: Alan getting shirty if he misses one micro-second of Jeremy Clarkson's clever-dickory, me preferring interesting documentaries which I might occasionally fall asleep in front of. But that's because of the snoring the night before...

Assembly

After the costume fiasco that was Bonnie's Greeks assembly, the sewing box was out in a flash when it was Alfie’s turn, the topic being Rainforests. ‘I have a snake head-dress already’ he said, (an animate role! he’s usually foliage) ‘but the head looks all smashed up - like an alien!' (delighted) 'because Tommy pressed reallyreallyreallyhard when he drawed the scales for me' Don't push yourself, Alfie. Well then, could I help him with his lines, the acting? Nothing registered for a while. 'Well,' he said, ' all I have to do is look at the animals and trees....and then lie down.’ Fingers crossed.

Bonnie was seeking attention by stabbing herself with a bread knife, so I asked her how the Greeks were going. ‘They pooed in buckets, and they wrote on papyrus, which is made out of weeds’. ‘It's so easy in the Juniors', whined Josie who had been crying on and off for a day over the ‘C’ she got for her review of Great Expectations, which I thought was a great mark considering she hadn't read it. ‘No-one told us to read the actual book' she said. 'I’m so stressed I need another bath, please have a cup of tea ready for me, Mummy, and this time I need two sugars... ‘and she trailed out of the room with a sigh, glancing in the mirror on the way.

As it turned out, the Rainforests assembly, was a marvel! The scene was set by various creatures of the rainforest wandering about amidst stirring music. No words! The plot relied on actions alone to reveal itself. Deforesters, I think, crashed in with a Bob the Builder chainsaw after a while, and CUT DOWN the very life of the forest – whoosh! Next it was burn, burn, burn (and burn some more as it happens, because the music had quite a considerable coda) until the ground was bare, and the creatures laid low. The bad guys then yawned excessively which was when I could have done with some narration, but my neighbour explained that the yawning symbolised lack of oxygen on account of the deforestation. Lesson learnt!

The assembly was topped off with the usual sing-song, but with the addition of a child conductress - not necessarily a wise move, but I’m sure her sense of achievement outweighed what the music lacked by way of a beat. After a few rounds of ‘One Voice’ (or should I say ‘Many Voices – and not all at the same time!’) my own little snake had more or less fallen sleep over his tambourine, which may be why he hasn't yet had a speaking part. Bravo, children!

Jam Tarts and Sag Aloo

Alone this weekend; Alan's away on a luxury golfing foray! Well, he needs a rest from the stresses and strains of life at the cutting edge of Human Resources. I am not resentful in the least, certainly not. Or noting with interest that it is raining.

I, then, am holding the fort, without car (no problem!) but hopefully with good humour. We got off to a good start after school on Friday. I'd set out an activity for Bonnie and her friends (packet of ready-rolled). There was ground to make up; she'd just had her class assembly (Greeks) and anyone could see that the 'costume' I'd provided her with was a double sheet bound round and round and round her until she resembled an enormous cotton reel. It was so heavy that she had to pin her arms to her sides throughout the performance to keep it from thudding to the floor. She gave the dances her best shot, lifting each arm dead fast - updown! updown!- one at a time, but she couldn't really let rip. When I cast an eye over the bronze chokers, the off-the-shoulder robes and the Cleopatra eye make-up of her mates, I had to admit I could have made more of an effort.

Anyway, I got brownie-points for the ready-rolled; 'Let's make tarts!' I beamed, perfect Mom. It was all going nicely, tart sale set up in the front garden, passers-by running for cover, children shouting 'Tarts for sale! Tarts for sale!', when oops-a-daisy, the whole cake-stand went down with a crash! Bonnie was in floods. I swept up the crushed tarts, blowing off the mud - 'Look!' taking a (gritty) bite, 'they're fine!' but it didn't wash. She was inconsolable.

I'd planned some quality time with Josie too, allowing her an indian takeaway while we watched a film together. But we'd just switched on when she dropped her vegetable curry onto the front room floor-boards (unfilled,until now). I swooped with a baby wipe, 'watch what you're doing, Josie!', pushing more into the cracks, and making her nervy, so then she stood on all the poppodums, which was obviously more than I could bare. 'Sit down and lift up your feet' I snapped. With my nose in the sag-aloo and my head under her legs, I didn't feel like bonding any more. Quality time can be over-rated.