Engineers

Well the Imaginarium event run by the University of Sheffield on Saturday was great. Umpteen engineering experiments engaged us for well over 2 hours and it was lovely to meet so many enthusiastic talented students. T was fascinated and inspired, quite full of sweets and rather wet.

The most successful experiment was friction testing T's fingers to trigger a spiderman climbing upwards. The marshmallow and strawberry lace DNA making, candyfloss eating, Skittle colour merging and chocolate breaking experiments meant she did pretty well on this one. And there was I about to get her to wash her hands first.

Once again we are so lucky to have these resources on our doorstep. A totally free event for kids demonstrating fascinating and fun engineering and showcasing the university. We even got to play with virtual reality building blocks and very expensive robots.

I'd recommend you keep your eyes peeled for another event - we certainly will be.

West Side Story at Abbeydale Picture House

I was surprised last night that there weren't more children in the audience, but I guess not everyone wanted to pass on their childhood of Sunday afternoon watching musicals like I did. Plus it was an evening film so was destined to be a late one, although when I booked the ticket I hadn't recalled that the film is 152 minutes long so it was destined to be rather later even than I had anticipated.

Ah well, parenting for me involves throwing in a few unusual experiences for the kids and this was one.

I love Abbeydale Picture House and in particular the passion of the volunteers working so hard to bring it back to life. The cafe (open Friday and Saturdays 10-5 at the moment) is beautiful, with excellent drinks and food and the thoughtful provision of blankets - it is a little nippy. The building itself is stunning and hopefully one day will be restored to it's former glory.So I couldn't pass up a night then of watching West Side Story with my lovely family in such brilliant surroundings, helping them raise a little money in the process.

West Side Story with children requires a little groundwork. In particular we talked about Romeo and Juliet and braced them both for people dying. We discussed racial tensions and the different meanings of the word 'gay". Other than that it's brilliant songs and cracking dancing so I didn't anticipate further problems.

Things we didn't think of explaining:

• That Shakespeare didn't exist in 1961
• Where Puerto Rico is
• Why people burst into song when they are supposed to be keeping the noise down
• That "Daddio" does not mean Daddy. This particular confusion made character relationships a little confusing - no one person can be a girl's brother and father at the same time surely?
• How the men's teeth got so shiny
• How unlikely it is to fall in love on the spot or indeed to forgive someone who has just killed your brother, even if he was cross at the time.

"What on earth was happening in that scene in a garage? They were already cool, why were they singing about keeping cool?" They know all about homonyms really.

Then we came to the crux - the problem with all Shakespeare tragedies. Tony is told that Maria is dead and goes into emotional meltdown at which point my eldest said "you'd think he'd have checked first". Absolutely, you will go far.

It was a lovely night. Retro snacks, comfy seats, a live intro from two lovely singers from Easy Street Theatre, a great view and a wonderful setting - they are truly putting heart back into a beautiful building. Add to that the craziness of explaining the world of the 1960s to an 8 and a 10 year old and you feel really alive.

As we walked out my daughter was discussing who the baddies were. She said she thought the Sharks from Puerto Rico were less bad because they'd had such a tough time already. Wow. There was me thinking we were the ones was teaching her not the other way round.

Bedtime

Questions I have been asked once we tucked them in and turned out the light this week:

Are computer networks wireless?
Is the World Wide Web really world wide?
Who invented words?
Why are some parts of some countries not as developed as other countries?
Do you like Russia?
What's Putin like?
What is a typhoon?
If we went to New Zealand on holiday which way would the aeroplane go?
Would we take our kindle fires?

That's without even touching on the worries which include death, growing up, cuddly toys, which order the pillows need to go in and incomplete homework.

Then this classic:

"I'm worried"
"Why?"
"Because I'm not worrying about anything."
"What? You are worried because you aren't worrying?"
"Yeah you know what I mean."
"Erm..."

Bedtime. Not exactly like in the movies.

Deep Breath

I'm sitting here feeling sick. Willing myself to make a commitment to go out singing. Which I love. But I want to hide at home.

I'm being honest. It's probably as hard to read as it is to write.

I'm struggling with anxiety. Fuelled by Sheffield City Council, children's worries, school and the dark. Not all the time. This morning I was fine. But at this moment. Now.

So I'm going to stop typing, have a cup of tea and get ready to go out, giving both my children cuddles before I go. Tomorrow I'll go to work and it will be ok. And then one day I will feel a lot better and it happen less and less often.

But this is a bit rubbish.

Anxiety

There is nothing that gets under my skin more than Sock.

Sock is P's name for her amygdala. He spends most of his time leading her to believe she is being chased by a ferocious tiger. He floods her with adrenalin that she neither understands nor has any idea what to do with.

Sock is an idiot. He has the best of intentions but leaves her with regular stomach ache and (increasingly now) chest pains. That's setting aside the hysteria that currently goes with a swimming lesson that includes none of her friends.

I'm sympathetic. God knows I know a bit about excess adrenalin. My amygdala is now called The Cat in the Hat and frankly he seems to be comparing multiple sports days, school visits, T's guitar exam and a camping trip to a herd of elephants stampeding my garden.

But despite my own understanding of all this I just can't help it - sometimes the stomach ache and refusal to eat gets on my nerves. Sometimes when I'm trapped in a car delivering P to a swimming lesson saying for the fiftieth time that she will be fine and she is a good swimmer when I actually want to cry myself and say "oh just get on with it it costs me a fortune". But on we go.

Since re-reading this article, following it's advice and naming Sock (the little git) I am more tolerant of the moaning and we feel like we are on a journey together. Who knows maybe it'll calm The Cat in the Hat down too.

So we are working on her recognising that Sock frankly reacts in an excessive way on a regular basis, and helping her work on how to cope when he does. Largely with breathing exercises and relaxation (which degenerated into giggles when I told her to relax her bottom).

If your child suffers from anxiety I cannot recommend the advice contained in the article from Hey Sigmund highly enough. She seems to understand what is going on. Which is the start of being able to tackle it. I hope.

Happy Stuff

This week had it's up and downs. Here are some ups.

My nearly eight year old has got up every morning this week, got dressed, made her own breakfast, made her and her sister's packed lunch and on one occasion emptied the dishwasher. She has not been bribed and as far as I can tell has not been bewitched. She is truly astonishing.

David O'Doherty. Sheer hilarious, adorable brilliance. Plus he answered my tweet. 

I really like babysitting other people's children. It's fascinating and amusing. And getting them to go to bed is great for your self esteem. Babysitting circles are genius. 

I know I've already mentioned it but I love where I work. I'm doing more hours for a couple of months and this coupled with my body being a bit stupid means I'm completely knackered but I actually like going to work and don't watch the clock ever. Sometimes the right things just happen.

We went to the oddest school assembly I have ever seen in my life. There was dancing to Aqua, a number of, as far as I could tell, unrelated poems chanted in unison and a Tina Turner song. The kids were wearing PE kit. I don't know why. They were all flipping brilliant though but I'm not sure the director would make it in the cut throat world of the West End.

And better than everything? I made a difference to someone's life. A small difference but a difference nevertheless. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Someone else is making a change because of me wittering on and sharing too much information. I might have had a hand in making someone happier. What is better than that?

So not a bad week and it's being finished with my Mum and Dad coming to stay and a trip away to celebrate our ten year wedding anniversary. Nice hotel, shopping for things we can't afford, lovely food and probably lots and lots of rain. It'll be like Iceland just with less horseriding and the added benefit of going to see a play with Hayley Cropper in it. Life is good.

Brownie Holiday

Well I'm not sure I would have been as enthusiastic about the idea of staying in Whiteley Woods in the pouring January rain, but maybe that's the ravages of age making me negative. Certainly Tilly seems to have been fairly taken with her first Brownie weekend away. The details are a bit sketchy but, from anecdotal and physical evidence, we have established the following:

1. I needn't have eaten the yoghurt as the yoghurt pot met an untimely demise early on in proceedings so she was given a new one. It was a Petit Filous.

2. I should have searched harder for the date she had a tetanus jab since she managed to be the only child to hurt herself on a barbed wire fence. She cried but was relieved the horse had sneezed in someone else's face and not hers.

3. She was the first to go to sleep on both nights, at 10pm and 9pm respectively. Which may be why she was asleep tonight by 6.55.

4. The £5 was spent "unwisely" by some on nothing but sweets, and "wisely" by Tilly on a packet of Flumps, a pottery squirrel and a cuddly toy. Yet another cuddly toy. I think I'd have preferred her to buy flying saucers.

5. The thoughtful panda book I so lovingly hid in her pyjamas as a treat confused her entirely and she didn't think it was hers. It's currently in lost property.

6. She had a banana for breakfast. Which is odd because she doesn't like bananas. Mind you I used to like Weetabix on Guide camp and it didn't taste the same at home.

7. It's tricky to make conkers and grass stick on paper plates.

8. She can be a effective waitress, cook and washer upper. I'm currently writing the kids a rota.

9. Reverse tie dying neckerchiefs is harder than you think.

10. It is inadvisable to try roasting marshmallows over a candle.

11. They walked, they played and they ate ice cream in January. Which she thought was barmy.

12. Brownie leaders still do inspection. I'm thinking of introducing bedroom inspection as a way to earn pudding.

So overall she had a good time I think. She managed to come home with almost everything that she took with her (apart from the book obviously) and a sleeping bag that belongs to someone else.

The negatives? She was a bit stressed that she still has homework to do, and has spent some time lamenting how she doesn't feel like she's had a weekend. Which is pretty much how grown ups feel all the time but I'm not sure saying that would have been helpful.

Since coming home she has played Lego with her dad, done some cartwheels, played cuddly woodland animal tea parties with her sister, eaten carbonara, watched The Voice (she was too tired to press her cushion button) and fallen asleep in five minutes flat, after a huge number of hugs and reassurances that she will see me more from now on.

It's quite nice to be appreciated and to know that, despite her enthusiasm, she isn't in too much of a hurry to grow up just yet. I'm proud of my independent girl but next time she goes away I'm going to come too.

Why it isn't that easy

Every now and then I read one of those blogs. You know the sort. The kind that encourages you to      s  l  o  w   d  o  w  n,  put down technology and other distractions and just focus on your children. I well up as I read about some adorable exhausted mother's light bulb moment and how glorious everything is now they have given stuff up and spend more time with their children. Oh how their relationships and self esteem have blossomed and how chuffing wonderful their life is.

In my weaker moments I aspire to this. I need to do as they say and stop trying so hard to achieve everything in my life. I need to stop trying to be perfect and just focus on what's important. They are so right...Hold on a minute they are telling me to stop trying to be perfect by giving me a lecture on how to be a perfect mum. I'm confused.

The reason these blogs are so appealing of course is because as parents every day we do something that we then feel guilty about. Only this morning there was an unfortunate shouting incident over a skirt. I should have calmly entered the room of the screaming seven year old and found her a clean skirt without using the phrases "you are old enough to find your own skirt" and "if anyone ever helped me put the clothes away they would know where things were" at slightly too high a volume. But I didn't. And then I felt guilty.

Later when I reflected and lamented my behaviour I read a blog entry that told me it would all be ok. If I simply change my ways, be calm and always listen to what they have to say the benefits for our relationship and my children's self esteem will be phenomenal. Good news.

So I decide this time at bedtime I will be different. When they ask for a fourteenth hug to avoid going to sleep I will give them one. When they hold on too long I won't let go and will simply hug them back. Because of course these hugs won't last forever and my child will get the message that I always have time for them. Ah you see, it's so convincing. The blogs have taught me. Let me get started.

The only question I have then is whether all these blog writing super mums have the unusual children or whether it's just me?

Give in and hold on longer is all well and good, but with my children it results in getting out of bed three times, demands for extra duvets, extended animated discussions about Lapland, a dance routine, an argument about the virtues (or lack of them) of Paddington on CD, requests for drinks and constant extremely loud butting in on each other's loving mummy and daughter bedtime moment. It's hard to feel the glow of love when you are acting as a mediator, geography teacher, appreciative audience member, long suffering mother and room service representative all at the same time. We don't go to bed like the Waltons in this house. It's more like the Magic Roundabout. With no-one playing Dylan.

So my pearl of wisdom is this. Don't beat yourself up. Don't read blogs that tell you to do stuff differently because it might be wholly impractical and/or unworkable and then you'll beat yourself up even more. Instead I recommend accepting this:

Children are bonkers. In a good way. Sometimes it's adorable. Sometimes it's annoying. You'll be fine.

I suspect I won't be asked to write my parenting book any time soon.

Ranting About Bugs

Allow me to take a moment to divert from summer holiday memories and to rant about illness. Specifically children's illness.

We can't have a holiday, or even a month go by to be honest, without some kind of illness or related drama. Over the past seven years we have spent four nights in Halifax children's hospital when we should have been on holiday, investigated mysterious bouts of urticaria and kidney function, experienced the trauma of our very little daughter having birth mark related operations, been to A&E following a trolley man meets head emergency, zoomed at speed on a beach buggy in Wales to check out a weird spikey crab in the bottom of foot thing, and that's not even mentioning of course the illnesses (like having chicken pox on Christmas day), bouts of nits and regular bumps on the head and rest of the body.

It's pretty normal I suppose and thankfully none of it the level that some people go through. And I really am grateful because I know in reality things could be a million times worse.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I want to scream "that's enough". Tonight was one of those nights.

As I listened to Tilly recount the story of the nurse successfully removing the tick's leg that has been stuck in her ear since last Friday I carefully selected a specific flannel and towel each. Because it is important to avoid the transfer of yet more verrucas and possible shingles to the other child and the grown ups. It's just lovely isn't it?

I declare tonight that I have just about had enough.