Mothers Day

The boys gave me a rose scented bath-bomb & some loveheart chocolates (Climber; spent his whole $6) and some rose hand-cream (Cherub, spent some of his $6 and went to the canteen with his change). Both boys are to be congratulated for choosing well and not buying anything that said World's Best Mum on it.

There was no sleeping-in or eating breakfast in bed. Instead we hauled ourselves to the soccer ground by 8.15am ready for the 9am kick-off, only to watch poor Climber's team get massacred by some formidable opponents.

At half-time, with the score 7-nil to the opposition, Climber was handed the goalie's shirt and gloves, surely the worst position on field when the other team is killing you.



But he surprised us by playing a corking game in goal, doing save after save. At the end of the match the score was 9-nil, and Climber walked off to the congratulations of his team-mates, asking please could we buy him some goalkeepers gloves of his own.



Then we came home and I had a bath and a nap, while the human males amused themselves and Basil-cat curled up next to me, delighted to have someone with whom to share the serious business of the Afternoon Sleep.

Well-meaning

Dear Mavis,

This Sunday will be your kids' first Mothers Day without you. I know, I know, that Mothers Day is primarily a retailer-generated celebration (buy Mum an expensive present to show you love her!) and therefore not to be taken too seriously, but it is so very all-pervading at the moment. Your poor boys can't help but notice it.

I was looking after your big boy earlier in the week, in between swimming lessons and soccer training, and I suddenly remembered about the Mothers Day Stall at school. See, I've volunteered at that stall in previous years, and I know what happens. All the kids troop down by class and pick out a gift for their mum. I thought to myself that it could be a truly horrible time for your boys, particularly if they weren't prepared for it. You know? Anyway. I dithered, I didn't know what to do but in the end I thought that I ought to say something about it to your big boy.

I approached it delicately, I explained that I knew the stall was going on and that I was worried it might make him feel a bit rotten to suddenly find himself in the middle of this Mothers Day frenzy, particularly if it took him by surprise. I said that sometimes it can help to be prepared, to have a plan. Maybe he'd like to buy a little gift for his aunt or au pair instead, maybe he just needed to arm his mental defences (I'm not sure what that means but it sounds like the sort of thing a boy might get) for what could be a sad time.

He didn't want to discuss it, he really didn't want to. Not that he said that, but the shutters came down and he was deflecting like a force-field. That's fair enough, I reckon. You were a very private person too, when I think about it. (Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him at a certain angle and he looks so much like you that it wallops me.) I backed off immediately. Then I ended up emailing their Dad to confess my meddling. I was concerned I might have made it all worse. For good measure I also told your boy's lovely teacher, and so she had a gentle word to him too. She promised to let your younger boy's teacher know as well, because he might have been in even more difficulties really; the junior grades often make cards and such-like. So I guess we did what we could, to try and smooth their way a little bit.

It's so hard, this first year, isn't it? The path just really can't be smoothed to any great degree. They're probably far too young to even take comfort from well-meant attempts at kindness. They just have to deal with all those horrible firsts in the wake of your death.

The boys are going to take some flowers on Sunday to the tree where your ashes rest. I hope they have a cry and let the sadness out. Meantime, we had your big boy round on Thursday and he was fine and not at all resentful or withholding so that is a relief.

Today was the day of The Stall, and I kept an eye on him. He sat alone while the other kids shopped and he coped, but I thought it looked hard for him. Fortunately their class came in just as the bell rang for recess so it was all over very quickly for him. I hope he put it all behind him with a vigorous game of Four-square.


I'll be thinking of them on Sunday. I'll also be thinking of my Mum, who, like your boys, is walking that rocky path of the First Year.

To make you laugh, I'll just point out that we have to be at soccer at 8.15am on Mothers Day, so you wouldn't have got a luxurious sleep-in if you had still been here.

love
Caroline x

We Are The Soccer Team.

Apparently there is a theory linking violence in soccer-fans to the high levels of frustration caused by the small number of goals scored per game. That's as may be (did they also study the socio-economic backgrounds of violent soccer fans, hmm?) but if it were true then at least the families at Climber's first ever soccer match were in no danger of being beaten up on the way out.  A grand total of 8 goals scored, 7 of them by Climber's team.  It was a pretty exciting match, it made the early start on a cold Sunday morning almost bearable.  I did feel sorry for the other team who had less players on the field than us and no reserves;  they played so gamely and we all cheered hard when they finally scored a goal. 



Climber had a great game, playing strongly in defence, and came off the field at the end on a great big happy high.

I'm pretty impressed with our coach. The only stuff he shouted from the sidelines was either positive tactical advice or Good Boy [name of player]! when they made a good play.  As in Good boy Climber! in a wonderful booming and slightly Italian-accented voice.  It was ace.  And he made sure the boys gave 3 cheers for the other team, and lined up properly to shake hands at the end.  And then he sent them back into a team huddle and told them to make up a team song.  Here's what they came up with: 

We are The [Name of Team], 
We are The [Name of Team], 
We are The [Name of Team], 
We are The [Name of Team]!!!

No actual tune to it yet, but it's early in the season.


(The half-time score.)

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Well, no actual arrows, but here are the slings in our life. Cherub is back at school although yesterday he only lasted half a day. Fair enough. At first he thought the sling was a nuisance and asked if he had to wear it. The doctor said it was a good idea, if only to let other people know to be gentle near him. By the end of that first day Cherub was really feeling the weight of his splinted arm, and both mornings since I've been awoken by Cherub standing next to my bed asking me to help him get the sling on. The poor kid is starting to realise the ramifications of being maimed. No swimming, soccer, tennis, trampoline, running or climbing. No two-handed games on the computer either. Even lego is difficult. I suggested he could read books but apparently that was boring too.



As for the kitty, he still really, really wants cuddles. He limps around after me sometimes, looking up at me pathetically. But I can't always be sitting in a chair, there is dinner to cook and stuff to do. So yesterday I tied the ends of a pashmina together and he snuggled in.



He was pretty happy with the arrangement.

A Small Break

It was the first day back at school this morning and guess what? Poor Cherub fell off the play equipment before the bell rang and [a] winded himself (very frightening for him) and [b] broke his wrist.



Ten and a bit years parenting and we've got our first broken child! And, as Astrid so rightly put it, we all thought it would be The Climber, what with his innate urge to leave the ground far behind him. But when you think about it, it makes sense that it was the smaller, less-co-ordinated brother; the boy who always tries to keep up with Master Anti-Gravity was actually the one who fell to earth.



Anyway. I took him to the Childrens Hospital where they gave him some pain relief and an x-ray, which revealed a buckle fracture in the radius (the larger arm-bone). So they put on a fibreglass splint and we were free to go. No manipulation of broken bones required, thank goodness. Slight possibility of a proper cast if the pain gets worse. He's fine. He ought to be back at school tomorrow and learning to do stuff right-handedly.

Making and making do.

More Easter baskets!

Even though you know that a bit of disappointment is not going to kill your children - and might possibly teach them a bit of fortitude - it can sometimes make you feel mean or sad when you have to tell your kids No. As in: No Climber, you can't do an extra day of tennis clinic this holiday even though you really want to come back tomorrow and do the Easter Egg Hunt and the Tournament With Prizes because we spent all our money on saving the cat.  It is even worse when your kid tries to be really brave about it in front of you, quickly wiping away tears so you won't see how much he minds.  It's not that my kids can't take a No.  I am absolutely not scared to say it, and they are mostly complaisant about taking it.  I just think that there is some pre-programmed section in a parental brain which inclines you to give your little darlings everything they want.  Madness.  Nobody should have everything they want.    

Still.  You have spent all your money on saving the cat, so how can you make this less sad for your trying-to-be-brave 10 year old?  I suppose you could just tell them to get over it, be thankful for what they already have, think of the kids in poor countries, tell them the privations you endured back in your day etc etc.  But although that sort of talk can help them with perspective, it doesn't really deal with their disappointment.  What you want is a softer option, an alternative, a compromise.  Like say, buying a $3 bag of chocolate eggs and taking them to Astrid's house the next day for a little playdate egg hunt.  Seemed to do the trick.

On Easter morning we received a phone call saying that Grandma Fixit had maybe broken her toe and that Fixit and Climber would not be able to go stay at the Fixit's holiday cabin in the hills as planned, something that Climber had been very excited about.  Of course, he was disappointed, but Easter Sunday is a pretty fun day so he didn't seem too devastated.  After all, my Dad came to visit, we made pink lemonade, we had a fun Easter Egg hunt with clues ...

... and later on in the afternoon we drove over to visit poor Grandma Fixit to cheer her up.  She was feeling pretty terrible about letting him down too, poor soul, but we said we'd try again later in the year.

However.  In the same spirit of solving the tennis disappointment by secreting $3 worth of chocolate eggs round a friend's loungeroom, Fixit and I decided to bring the mountain to Climber anyway. Well, not so much the mountain as the campfire, which had been, we think, on top of Climber's To Do list for the getaway. So to top off a lovely Easter Sunday, we made a camp-fire in our old Weber and let the boys eat their dinner outside. There was also marshmallow toasting.



Nobody went to bed disappointed.

Getting Ready For Easter

On Good Friday I made some Choc-mint Slices and some Mini Lemon Meringue Tarts for the family gathering that afternoon.



(The gathering was lots of fun and my sweet offerings were a smash)

On Easter Saturday I made some Easter baskets.  One each for the boys so they can, as requested, have another Easter Egg Hunt.



(We had the inaugural Egg Hunt last Easter and it was a smash.  PS If you follow that link, check out the amateur baskets I cobbled together last year. I am so on my Sewing P-plates now.)

As for Easter Sunday, well, unfortunately I think once the search for chocolate is over and we farewell Fixit and Climber for their little jaunt to the hills I will have to spend the rest of the day dealing with the mess all my creativity created.



Yikes!  Lucky there'll be plenty of chocolate to sustain me.



Wishing you a Happy Easter.