The last few weeks have been very difficult in parenting terms. Eldest is at the end of Year 1 which, frankly, he has not enjoyed much - the school haven't really known what to do with him and parachuted him into Year 2 for a lot of the year. Middlest is just leaving pre-school to start school in September and is torn between excitement at being at school with his brother and fear at a different set of teachers, rules, uniform and so on. Littlest is going through the Terrible Twos and is demonstrating a truly dreadful temper, a tendency to pinch and scratch when thwarted, and a shriek like a pteradactyl.
All this is, of course, exacerbated by having to be out of the house during the day because of the building work. We are 'camping' with the grandparents during the day, which is causing all sorts of interesting conundra in terms of rules, eating habits, television and so on.
I have discovered during this time that I cannot withdraw my attention from the children for any period. I have given up trying to read / check my email / write a letter during the day at all. While we are so unsettled, they need all my attention during the day, if I'm to have any freedom to cook their tea without someone climbing my leg. But the odd thing is, I'm enjoying it. Ok, so watching Lazy Town isn't as intellectually challenging as trying to digest World News while someone attempts to carve their name into the dining table, but it's less destructive and therefore more rewarding. I find to my disquiet that by the end of the day I don't actually care about the World News and would rather have a bath and read Parson Woodforde, but THAT'S OK TOO. I am playing with my children all the time, and they are benefitting. Today, I played trains with #2 and #3 in the garden for half an hour, including making tunnels out of Ryvita boxes. Then they decided to run in and out of the French doors blowing raspberries (which I declined to join in with, much to next-door's amusement). Then, while #1 and #2 watched the Saturday Film with Daddy, #3 and I did some cooking. This evening, I got to sit with #1 while he did a science experiment and wrote his holiday diary. 10 years ago I'd have considered this a hideous imposition on my time, but I really enjoyed today. I hope we can all relax into the school holidays now and make some really nice memories out of them and this blog.
(Parson Woodforde moment - for dinner this evening, homemade French bread pizza, potato wedges with yoghurt for dipping and Saturday Sundae).
Saturday 28 July 2007
A bit of background
So, I will set the scene for my own sake as much as anyone else's.
I'm in my early thirties, and a stay at home mum to three lovely children, aged just 6, 4 and a third and two and a half. Yes, they are close together. Yes, it was deliberate. Yes, it is hard work. No, I don't regret it in the slightest, ever. I was an accountant before any of them were born and although I work even longer hours now that I did then (which I'd never have believed if you'd told me when I was pregnant with #1), I feel I'm doing something worthwhile now. And no-one ever gave me a bunch of slightly squished dandelions or a homecard card to thank me for doing their tax return.
The housewifely side of things is more difficult to explain. On the one hand, I'm a control freak - oh, I love lists, tables, folders, plans, charts, critical paths; anything that gives the illusion of control. On the other hand, I come from a long line on my mother's side of intelligent but DEEPLY untidy women. The need to hoard has come out strongly in me and it's only recently that I've found the mental strength to throw away silly things like all the concert tickets from the Sixth Form and letters from a former boyfriend I'd much rather forget. Isn't that silly?
But, I do love to take care of my family. We've been having some building work done recently (see my husband's blog at www.whitzend-again.blogspot.com) which has prevented me cooking by the simple expedient of removing the kitchen completely in the first 10 days of the project. It's made me bizarrely anonymous and useless, having to rely on ready meals and not bake, or cook proper meals, or indeed know what's for tea until it's on the table (and I'm still quite frequently wrong even at that point). This was quite a shock for a grammar school girl who was raised to be a Captain of Industry and to Change the World by taking over some Arm of Commerce and leading it to Greater and Better Things. Giving up accountancy for parenthood somehow doesn't cut it - although I notice that the majority of the friends I value have done much the same thing.
Anyway, the point of this post was actually to explain the name of this blog. Wisteria and Lobelia were the names that my family gave my bump when I was expecting my first two babies. Since they both turned out to be boys, then I decided not to risk it with a name for the third bump - who, naturally enough, was a girl. But it does create the image of roses-round-the-door, white-picket-fence, cottage security; and since I am having a range cooker in my new kitchen (truly a think of beauty and I am very excited about it) then it seems appropriate.
I'm in my early thirties, and a stay at home mum to three lovely children, aged just 6, 4 and a third and two and a half. Yes, they are close together. Yes, it was deliberate. Yes, it is hard work. No, I don't regret it in the slightest, ever. I was an accountant before any of them were born and although I work even longer hours now that I did then (which I'd never have believed if you'd told me when I was pregnant with #1), I feel I'm doing something worthwhile now. And no-one ever gave me a bunch of slightly squished dandelions or a homecard card to thank me for doing their tax return.
The housewifely side of things is more difficult to explain. On the one hand, I'm a control freak - oh, I love lists, tables, folders, plans, charts, critical paths; anything that gives the illusion of control. On the other hand, I come from a long line on my mother's side of intelligent but DEEPLY untidy women. The need to hoard has come out strongly in me and it's only recently that I've found the mental strength to throw away silly things like all the concert tickets from the Sixth Form and letters from a former boyfriend I'd much rather forget. Isn't that silly?
But, I do love to take care of my family. We've been having some building work done recently (see my husband's blog at www.whitzend-again.blogspot.com) which has prevented me cooking by the simple expedient of removing the kitchen completely in the first 10 days of the project. It's made me bizarrely anonymous and useless, having to rely on ready meals and not bake, or cook proper meals, or indeed know what's for tea until it's on the table (and I'm still quite frequently wrong even at that point). This was quite a shock for a grammar school girl who was raised to be a Captain of Industry and to Change the World by taking over some Arm of Commerce and leading it to Greater and Better Things. Giving up accountancy for parenthood somehow doesn't cut it - although I notice that the majority of the friends I value have done much the same thing.
Anyway, the point of this post was actually to explain the name of this blog. Wisteria and Lobelia were the names that my family gave my bump when I was expecting my first two babies. Since they both turned out to be boys, then I decided not to risk it with a name for the third bump - who, naturally enough, was a girl. But it does create the image of roses-round-the-door, white-picket-fence, cottage security; and since I am having a range cooker in my new kitchen (truly a think of beauty and I am very excited about it) then it seems appropriate.
Now I have a plan
Right, I've thought about this a bit more now. I've been reading James Woodforde's 'Diary of a Country Parson (1758 - 1802)' recently (admittedly very slowly - that's the penalty of the school holidays). I like that idea that he recorded a great deal not about the 'great events' of the late 18th century, but about the minutiae of his life - what was for dinner, what he paid his blacksmith (and spirits smuggler), who in the local community came to visit or was rude. It's a rather lovely record of what was important in his life over a 45 year period.
I'm not claiming to be making such a record here, but I would like to record what's happening generally in my (our) lives. I always thought I would remember my children's early years in huge detail and glorious technicolour but the truth is that Eldest turned 6 ten days ago and I don't know where that time has gone. Before Middlingest and Youngest get beyond 4 and 2 I'd like to make a record of this time.
I've already started 'memory books' for each of them, just recording little incidents out of their childhoods (like when Eldest slipped on the stairs, then went back to the top and asked for another go!) that I think they will like to hear when they're older. This is much more about recording how I feel about things and how the housewifely stuff is going. I don't believe anyone will read it (I once heard blogs described as 'written by people who erroneously believe anyone cares about their lives') but it's a useful recording method for me, at least until the Internet is superseded by something even more wizzy.
If anyone is reading this, best of luck.
I'm not claiming to be making such a record here, but I would like to record what's happening generally in my (our) lives. I always thought I would remember my children's early years in huge detail and glorious technicolour but the truth is that Eldest turned 6 ten days ago and I don't know where that time has gone. Before Middlingest and Youngest get beyond 4 and 2 I'd like to make a record of this time.
I've already started 'memory books' for each of them, just recording little incidents out of their childhoods (like when Eldest slipped on the stairs, then went back to the top and asked for another go!) that I think they will like to hear when they're older. This is much more about recording how I feel about things and how the housewifely stuff is going. I don't believe anyone will read it (I once heard blogs described as 'written by people who erroneously believe anyone cares about their lives') but it's a useful recording method for me, at least until the Internet is superseded by something even more wizzy.
If anyone is reading this, best of luck.
Wednesday 25 July 2007
This is the beginning
I've been writing this blog in my head for weeks, if not months, and now I'm finally here I'm not sure what to say.
More tomorrow when it's percolated a bit.
More tomorrow when it's percolated a bit.
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