The Big Fella is enjoying being top dog. For 2 days each week, he sets the pace.
It's just me and him. He gets to decide which park to visit, which library books we borrow, and what games we play. He even gets first bid on what we're eating for dinner.
Of course it all ends at 3pm when school finishes and we collect The Complicated One. Then it's back to normal. Or abnormal.
And now The Big Fella has tasted the high life as top dog, things can get a bit testy at the pound when the old dog returns.
There is much pawing at the ground and gnashing of teeth as he asserts his few-found authority. They disagree over anything and everything - who gets to play with what toy, whose toy is it anyhow, how to play a game, whose game is it anyway, what we're having for dinner, and whether the sky is blue or green.
Being two months shy of his 4th birthday and in the 'big' room at child care, The Big Fella thinks he's king of the world.
Until The Complicated One reminds him that's he's nearly six and is going to school. At which point The Big Fella declares, "Well, I'm going to school next year!"
Which may or may not be the case, depending on how soon The Big Fella can count past 14 and write more than the first two letters of his name. Even if he can't, he has the personality to bluff his way through kindergarten even now.
Chances are he'll find the whole experience less traumatic than his big brother, who after 6 weeks of Kindergarten is wracked with existential angst when he can't read a sentence that would trouble most Year 2 kids.
The Big Fella already dresses each morning like he's off to a Year 12 school formal. He takes great care to match one of Spiderman t-shirts with the right pair of shorts, choose socks that are cool ("are these socks cool?" he asks most mornings), and adjust the tilt of his cap (the bucket had was long ago ditched as uncool).
The Complicated One couldn't care less what he wears. He has too much on his mind as it is, what with re-sorting his Moshi Monsters collection and deciding on the pros and cons of different approaches to securing world peace.
A mum whispered to me during school assembly this morning that her son told her that everyone in his class wants to be like The Complicated One. No, not complicated - but attentive in class, considerate and respectful of others, and generally helpful and well-behaved.
My heart filled to bursting.
As for The Big Fella, he's busy mixing poison in the cubby house. "Don't come in, I'm mixing poison" he yelled at me yesterday afternoon.
Let's just hope he's not planning to poison the top dog.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Fading first day of school blues
Week 5 of school and the first day blues are fading. We’re not out of the woods yet, but the path is smoother and the undergrowth is thinner and hides fewer dangers.
Much to our relief The Complicated One is making friends quickly. Last week after morning assembly I watched him walk back to class holding hands with a little girl (who he later told us he is going to marry!). They were the only ones holding hands – it looked terribly sweet.
He even quietly admits to enjoying many parts of the school day.
He loves doing little jobs - delivering the lunch orders from the canteen, couriering the school banking envelopes from classroom to front office, being bag police.
He’s fully into his readers, and taking up the challenge of reading a new book each night. He loves us filling out the diary that records what he’s read and what he liked about it, and getting a sticker.
There are a few kids who like him are already reading. But everyone’s different. While some kids are struggling with the curriculum, he’s still struggling with some of the social aspects.
He reckons recess and lunch are too long. Which we guess is related to the friends situation, which while much improved is still a source of some agitation for him.
Waiting in the playground for the music that signals morning assembly, he still won’t leave my lap, even though we’re often surrounded by a group of kids asking him to play.
Deep down we know that of course he’ll soon be running off without a backwards look. But we also know that he’s always taken longer than most to settle into new social situations.
It’s a matter of being patient. We’re just so relieved he’s not still crying himself to sleep, and that most mornings we can trundle off to school with little or no complaint.
Doesn’t mean he’s enjoying it, or it’s easy – but he’s coping.
We were warned by friends with kids who recently went through Kindy of the terrible rages that can occur after school. Tired and stressed kids who’ve been holding it together all day suddenly let themselves explode in the safety of their home.
We’ve had a few of these episodes. Often it’s a brief bit of yelling and crying over a small thing that he’d normally take in his stride.
So most afternoons it’s like walking on eggshells – don’t upset the crazy Kindy pupil in the corner!
It's just a matter of adjusting my medication and taking it in our stride.
Much to our relief The Complicated One is making friends quickly. Last week after morning assembly I watched him walk back to class holding hands with a little girl (who he later told us he is going to marry!). They were the only ones holding hands – it looked terribly sweet.
He even quietly admits to enjoying many parts of the school day.
He loves doing little jobs - delivering the lunch orders from the canteen, couriering the school banking envelopes from classroom to front office, being bag police.
He’s fully into his readers, and taking up the challenge of reading a new book each night. He loves us filling out the diary that records what he’s read and what he liked about it, and getting a sticker.
There are a few kids who like him are already reading. But everyone’s different. While some kids are struggling with the curriculum, he’s still struggling with some of the social aspects.
He reckons recess and lunch are too long. Which we guess is related to the friends situation, which while much improved is still a source of some agitation for him.
Waiting in the playground for the music that signals morning assembly, he still won’t leave my lap, even though we’re often surrounded by a group of kids asking him to play.
Deep down we know that of course he’ll soon be running off without a backwards look. But we also know that he’s always taken longer than most to settle into new social situations.
It’s a matter of being patient. We’re just so relieved he’s not still crying himself to sleep, and that most mornings we can trundle off to school with little or no complaint.
Doesn’t mean he’s enjoying it, or it’s easy – but he’s coping.
We were warned by friends with kids who recently went through Kindy of the terrible rages that can occur after school. Tired and stressed kids who’ve been holding it together all day suddenly let themselves explode in the safety of their home.
We’ve had a few of these episodes. Often it’s a brief bit of yelling and crying over a small thing that he’d normally take in his stride.
So most afternoons it’s like walking on eggshells – don’t upset the crazy Kindy pupil in the corner!
It's just a matter of adjusting my medication and taking it in our stride.
Friday, February 3, 2012
First day of school blues
On the morning of his first day at school, The Complicated One retired to bed dressed in his uniform and shoes, pulled the blankets over his head, and said he wasn't going.
Clearly, the transition wasn't going to be easy.
By the time we got to school he was even more upset. The tears were flowing, and the other parents were looking at us across the playground.
After edging him toward his classroom ever so slowly we ended up dragging him inside. Force was required to the extent that we feared bruising his arms.
His teacher took him and closed the door. Presumably to keep him there.
Talk about a dramatic first day at school, for both child and parents.
The same thing happened on day two - tears, sobbing and pleas to stay at home - but without the dragging (I employed a steady push instead).
"I want to stay at home with you and mummy."
"I want to go back to (insert name of child care centre/pre-school)."
"I want it to be Saturday every day."
You get the idea. And it's only day two.
That it's rained steadily both days, at drop off and pick-up, hasn't exactly contributed to the cheery atmosphere.
He was happy when we picked him at the end of day one. The happiness lasted about three hours, until he started thinking about going to school the next day. Then he cried himself to sleep.
We had hoped for the best. Last year we all got through the three transition-to-school mornings with no tears or obvious emotional scars for child or parents. He happily went off on his own for the hour and a half sessions.
But clearly he draws the line at a day.
Three years ago the transition to childcare (two days a week) was a drama that lasted months. So deep down we knew school wasn't going to be any easier. Sure, he's more mature and had a lot more practice at separating, but school's a much bigger and scarier place (if you're that way inclined).
The Complicated One is a homebody. He needs to really know a place, and the people in it, before he relaxes and shows his true colours. Until then, he sits quietly and shyly with very wide eyes, and watches. He'll rarely volunteer information, even when he knows the answer, and he's frequently overlooked. But once settled, he's outgoing and articulate, and often takes charge.
Whereas The Big Fella just barges into new situations. At three and a half, he was almost volunteering to take the place of The Complicated One at school.
As we left the school grounds, the lollipop lady asked how we'd gotten on today. "Poorly - again," I replied.
"Is he a quiet one? An observer?" she asked.
I nodded.
"They always end up a prefect or school captain."
I know she was trying to cheer me up. But we'd gladly swap future responsibility for current happiness.
Clearly, the transition wasn't going to be easy.
By the time we got to school he was even more upset. The tears were flowing, and the other parents were looking at us across the playground.
After edging him toward his classroom ever so slowly we ended up dragging him inside. Force was required to the extent that we feared bruising his arms.
His teacher took him and closed the door. Presumably to keep him there.
Talk about a dramatic first day at school, for both child and parents.
The same thing happened on day two - tears, sobbing and pleas to stay at home - but without the dragging (I employed a steady push instead).
"I want to stay at home with you and mummy."
"I want to go back to (insert name of child care centre/pre-school)."
"I want it to be Saturday every day."
You get the idea. And it's only day two.
That it's rained steadily both days, at drop off and pick-up, hasn't exactly contributed to the cheery atmosphere.
He was happy when we picked him at the end of day one. The happiness lasted about three hours, until he started thinking about going to school the next day. Then he cried himself to sleep.
We had hoped for the best. Last year we all got through the three transition-to-school mornings with no tears or obvious emotional scars for child or parents. He happily went off on his own for the hour and a half sessions.
But clearly he draws the line at a day.
Three years ago the transition to childcare (two days a week) was a drama that lasted months. So deep down we knew school wasn't going to be any easier. Sure, he's more mature and had a lot more practice at separating, but school's a much bigger and scarier place (if you're that way inclined).
The Complicated One is a homebody. He needs to really know a place, and the people in it, before he relaxes and shows his true colours. Until then, he sits quietly and shyly with very wide eyes, and watches. He'll rarely volunteer information, even when he knows the answer, and he's frequently overlooked. But once settled, he's outgoing and articulate, and often takes charge.
Whereas The Big Fella just barges into new situations. At three and a half, he was almost volunteering to take the place of The Complicated One at school.
As we left the school grounds, the lollipop lady asked how we'd gotten on today. "Poorly - again," I replied.
"Is he a quiet one? An observer?" she asked.
I nodded.
"They always end up a prefect or school captain."
I know she was trying to cheer me up. But we'd gladly swap future responsibility for current happiness.
Monday, January 9, 2012
School holiday blues
School holiday blues are not just for the parents of school-aged children. The ripple effect also traps parents of pre-school children.
Exhibit one: Indoor play centre in suburban Sydney on the first Monday of the school holidays. Bedlam.
It’s the same play centre where a few months ago I unexpectedly had one of the few serene moments so far of my wonky daddy day care odyssey.
Remember my loving description of the perfect combination of climbing frames and slippery dips, jumping castle and ball pit, trikes and cars, good coffee, good music and magazines and couches for parents - where I dreamt of a perfect life with a lap pool, media room with projector TV, snooker table and table tennis table?
Yeah, well that simple dream vanishes at a play centre during school holidays.
It’s crowded and noisy, with bigger kids tearing about and threatening to knock over your little kids, and the little kids all a bit ratty as they respond to the bedlam and are in fear of their lives from the big kids.
An indoor play centre is still a better bet after a rainy weekend than a park’s wet grass and mud, but it’s a close-run thing.
Exhibit two: Shopping centre school holiday activities. Good in principle, but hit-and-miss in reality.
Key variables are the size of the shopping centre, the type and quality of activities, and the time of day.
Two trestle tables of Lego blocks in a tiny shopping centre with no room to move in the late morning rush does not make for a pleasant and diverting break for either kids or parents.
Nor would you think does a long queue for a butterfly experience inside a tent. But provided both parents can attend (one as queue place-holder, one as child attention diverter) then this is a quite delightful experience.
The queue moves slowly as they’re only allowing six people at a time inside the small tent. But this improves the quality of the experience.
It’s magic watching the delight on our kids’ faces as the handlers pass them each a stick with some food on the end, onto which a butterfly lands.
Elsewhere, a clown making balloon animals is a hit with The Complicated One but quickly bores The Big Fella.
Luckily the shopping centre is not that crowded so there’s plenty of space for me to walk around with the younger one while the older one stays and watches the 30-minute show then joins the inevitable post-show queue for the take-home balloon animal.
I can see The Complicated One the whole time, which stops him fretting about being abandoned and stops me worrying about child abduction.
At one stage The Big Fella stands on a seat and tries to throw himself over a small wall onto the escalator below.
Luckily I am alert to these kinds of capers, and catch him expertly by one meaty calf shortly before he plunges to an ugly and untimely end.
School holiday activities are hazardous for parents and kids alike.
Exhibit one: Indoor play centre in suburban Sydney on the first Monday of the school holidays. Bedlam.
It’s the same play centre where a few months ago I unexpectedly had one of the few serene moments so far of my wonky daddy day care odyssey.
Remember my loving description of the perfect combination of climbing frames and slippery dips, jumping castle and ball pit, trikes and cars, good coffee, good music and magazines and couches for parents - where I dreamt of a perfect life with a lap pool, media room with projector TV, snooker table and table tennis table?
Yeah, well that simple dream vanishes at a play centre during school holidays.
It’s crowded and noisy, with bigger kids tearing about and threatening to knock over your little kids, and the little kids all a bit ratty as they respond to the bedlam and are in fear of their lives from the big kids.
An indoor play centre is still a better bet after a rainy weekend than a park’s wet grass and mud, but it’s a close-run thing.
Exhibit two: Shopping centre school holiday activities. Good in principle, but hit-and-miss in reality.
Key variables are the size of the shopping centre, the type and quality of activities, and the time of day.
Two trestle tables of Lego blocks in a tiny shopping centre with no room to move in the late morning rush does not make for a pleasant and diverting break for either kids or parents.
Nor would you think does a long queue for a butterfly experience inside a tent. But provided both parents can attend (one as queue place-holder, one as child attention diverter) then this is a quite delightful experience.
The queue moves slowly as they’re only allowing six people at a time inside the small tent. But this improves the quality of the experience.
It’s magic watching the delight on our kids’ faces as the handlers pass them each a stick with some food on the end, onto which a butterfly lands.
Elsewhere, a clown making balloon animals is a hit with The Complicated One but quickly bores The Big Fella.
Luckily the shopping centre is not that crowded so there’s plenty of space for me to walk around with the younger one while the older one stays and watches the 30-minute show then joins the inevitable post-show queue for the take-home balloon animal.
I can see The Complicated One the whole time, which stops him fretting about being abandoned and stops me worrying about child abduction.
At one stage The Big Fella stands on a seat and tries to throw himself over a small wall onto the escalator below.
Luckily I am alert to these kinds of capers, and catch him expertly by one meaty calf shortly before he plunges to an ugly and untimely end.
School holiday activities are hazardous for parents and kids alike.
Monday, January 2, 2012
No more Christmas for the rest of days?
"There's no more Christmas for the rest of days?" asked The Big Fella this morning, as we took down the Christmas tree.
He sounded most concerned.
"No, Christmas will come again next year," I assured him.
I didn't add that the magic of Christmas is fleeting. And he'd do well to enjoy it while he can. Dangerous thoughts, best kept to yourself.
His innocent question sounded rather final, and in some ways it is.
Christmas comes but once a year. And our magical belief in Santa occupies only a few years of our life.
At best it lasts from about 3 to 9 years - from the time you're old enough to realise something exciting is happening, until the time your older brother or neighbour tells you there's no such thing as Santa.
If you're from a family with little money, the magic may be even more fleeting. Or more about longing, than fulfillment.
As adults we tell ourselves the magic of Christmas returns when we have children or grandchildren, and can share in their anticipation leading up to the big day and the joy of Chrismas morning.
To some extent that's true. But it's a different kind of joy to truly believing that Santa is real and your wishes really can come true.
I guess The Big Fella's comment really made me think about the loss of innocence - the innocence of childhood, which seems as fleeting as our belief in Santa.
As The Complicated One heads off to the big wide world of school, it's on my mind a lot.
He sounded most concerned.
"No, Christmas will come again next year," I assured him.
I didn't add that the magic of Christmas is fleeting. And he'd do well to enjoy it while he can. Dangerous thoughts, best kept to yourself.
His innocent question sounded rather final, and in some ways it is.
Christmas comes but once a year. And our magical belief in Santa occupies only a few years of our life.
At best it lasts from about 3 to 9 years - from the time you're old enough to realise something exciting is happening, until the time your older brother or neighbour tells you there's no such thing as Santa.
If you're from a family with little money, the magic may be even more fleeting. Or more about longing, than fulfillment.
As adults we tell ourselves the magic of Christmas returns when we have children or grandchildren, and can share in their anticipation leading up to the big day and the joy of Chrismas morning.
To some extent that's true. But it's a different kind of joy to truly believing that Santa is real and your wishes really can come true.
I guess The Big Fella's comment really made me think about the loss of innocence - the innocence of childhood, which seems as fleeting as our belief in Santa.
As The Complicated One heads off to the big wide world of school, it's on my mind a lot.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
And so this is Christmas ...
... another year over, and a new one just begun (well, almost), to misquote John Lennon.
No, we didn't Buy a Zoo, or a War Horse. We didn't even put our Puss in Boots.
We didn't develop Happy Feet Two and set off on a Mission Impossible. Nor did we require a Ghost Protocol (although it was a year of more nightmares for both boys).
There was many a Twilight Saga at bedtime, and as usual we saw plenty of Breaking Dawns.
But there was an Iron Lady (Sherrie, who returned to work full-time in February).
Which I guess makes me Tin Tin, as I set off on the adventure of being at home with our boys.
I can't say that I found the secret of the unicorn, but I think I approached some sort of happiness in immersing myself in the world of The Complicated One and The Big Fella.
I lived this year like I had 12 months to live. I wanted to spend every moment I could with our boys, because you never know when it might end.
I think Sherrie found some satisfaction too, in being back in the workplace and making a difference to the people around her. She earns the right to be called the Iron Lady, for having the courage to allow me this year with both the boys, and probably next year as well.
So, a final word from John Lennon, musical genius and brains of the band that changed so many lives...
"And so this is Christmas, I hope you have fun, the near and the dear ones, the old and the young.
"A very merry Christmas, and a happy New Year.
"Let's hope it's a good one, without any fear."
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I’m reading…. American on Purpose
American on Purpose traces Craig Ferguson's journey from punk drummer in Glasgow to late night TV host in LA, via alcohol and drug abuse, and chased by killer ducks.
I’ve become such a fan of The Late Late Show that Ferguson hosts on CBS (screened here by Eleven) that I just had to know more about him.
His TV show is plain crazy. But crazy clever.
Make sure you catch a night when he rings a doorbell and a fake horse called Secretariat bounds out on stage to some wicked beats, while Craig and the studio audience dance like crazy.
American on Purpose is full of life lessons that are never rammed down your throat. Worth reading just for his story about killer ducks - but you won't want to put it down.
I’ve become such a fan of The Late Late Show that Ferguson hosts on CBS (screened here by Eleven) that I just had to know more about him.
His TV show is plain crazy. But crazy clever.
Make sure you catch a night when he rings a doorbell and a fake horse called Secretariat bounds out on stage to some wicked beats, while Craig and the studio audience dance like crazy.
American on Purpose is full of life lessons that are never rammed down your throat. Worth reading just for his story about killer ducks - but you won't want to put it down.
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