Fleeting moments

There are moments that I just want to freeze. Or maybe what I mean is I'd love them to last a little longer than a few moments.

When they play on the trampoline as they do every morning and afternoon and all I can hear as I'm pegging washing is Kian's giggle and Luca making him laugh.

Or when Kian falls over and Luca takes on the role of carer and passes him a muslin and tells him it's OK.

Luca has taught him how to play hide and seek and I don't know if Kian understands 'it's my turn to hide', but they work it out somehow.

They chase each other down the hallway (what would we do without a hallway???) and then fall in a heap on each other.

But they're all just fleeting moments, before it all comes crashing down.

I don't like conflict – that's my trouble, so when I get moments like this, I stop what I'm doing and watch. That's usually when it all goes to pot.

I know parenting isn't a stroll in the park, and I imagine, like any other journey, it probably has something to teach us.

But, really, does it have to teach us every. single. hour. of. every. single. bloody. day? Can we not just schedule the lessons say once a fortnight or so? Once a week? Then you see, I can deal with my conflict issues in an appropriate manner and have time to think about what I might do to prepare for the next lesson?

Gosh, wouldn't that be nice. Don't you think?




I will never play host again

I hate playdates. There, I've said it.

After today, I'm going to have to wait until my kids have left home before I try and make any friends. I WILL not have playdates here again, and because these things are reciprocal, I don't suppose we'll get invited after a while.

So that's it. I will chat to mums in the playground, at our music class and in the library, but it ends there. If the mums want our kids to play together, they can enrol them at the same preschool next year. And if it's me you're interested in, well, it'll have to be in the evening when they're fast asleep.

Why? WHY?

I'll tell you why.

Because I don't want to hear non-stop hysterical screaming from no.1, 2 and 3 over the same bloody toy.

Because it's not fair that the boys' things get torn apart from the constant pulling and tugging.

Because I don't want to comfort my children, and their children, every two minutes.

Because I don't want to spend days tidying up and clearing away special toys that might get wrecked, only for the place to get trashed anyway and major upset over a broken toy (it turns out every toy is special).

Because I don't want to spend the whole time watching where the other kids are in case they're up to no good.

Because I don't want to try so bloody hard to keep a conversation going that stops and starts so many goddamn times, because one of us has been torn away to comfort no.1 child, then the other has to run and stop no.2 and no.3 from killing eachother. You spend a few minutes trying to recall what you were talking about, you remember and then get dragged away to enforce time-out because no.3 walloped no.4 over the head. This goes on and on for the entire duration of the playdate.

Because I don't want to pretend that all of the above is OK. 

Because, really, the only reason I organised this was for me and my boys to enjoy other people's company. And guess what? I'm having a crappy time and they're both wailing.

Because I'm now so tired and exhausted from the stress of it all.

And I'm not the only one. Kian, the poor little soul, fell asleep while he was eating his lunch. I went into the kitchen to fetch something, turned around and he was away.

I'm not surprised. It was quite a morning.

Never again.

Vanessa

Confronting an emo?

We've just got back from the playground. A fabulous playground with a flying fox, a big spider web, rubber toadstools, and the usual swings, slide, sandpit etc.

A playground for children.

Not for 18-year-olds. And certainly not for selfish, downright rude, chalky-faced, black-eyed, chain-smoking 18-year-olds.

The boys and I were the only ones there when these three girls sat bouncing on the climbing frame with fags in their mouths. Two of them were quite heavy to say the least. I could see the whole frame collapsing underneath them. I bit my lip.

Luca had enough of the flying fox and wanted a go on the slide. We walked around the playground and they moved onto the smaller equipment. The chubbier one started swinging madly on the baby swing (I guess she felt the bigger child's swing was a bit beyond her) and the other two were straddling the grasshopper rocker clutching their packets of cigarettes. Both of them on the one small rocker. Both.of.them.

I was angry now, so I just approached them. And just blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

Me: "Have you guys not anything better to do than play in a playground designed for 3-year-olds?".

Sour-faced emo: "You can't tell me what to do."

Me: "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm telling you what you can't do especially when you'll end up breaking something and ruining it for my children and others."

Sour-faced and very defensive emo: "We're not breaking anything."

Angrier me: "You WILL end up breaking something, because that is a baby swing, for BABIES, and there's two of you on that thing. Oh, and by the way, last time I checked you can't smoke around playgrounds."

Sour-faced, very defensive and cocky emo waving her packet of fags: "Can you see me smoking?"

And it continued. I pointed out to her that she was smoking before around play equipment, and so I could have the last word, I asked her if she'd like to continue arguing with me or would she prefer I call the council ranger. She dared me.

So I sat down with Luca who wanted his snack by now. A moment later they had climbed back into their car and driven off.

Good riddance.

Then, as if someone somewhere was winding me up, four adults (at least a decade past their teenage years) stepped out of their 4x4 with their St Bernard, sat down on one of the benches by the slide and started puffing away. I checked to see if they'd accidentally left a kid in the car. Nop. Just them and the hound.

One confrontation was enough for one day and besides they weren't selfishly looking to wreck anything. So I said nothing.

But when did children's playgrounds become cool hangouts for goths and childless adults? And more to the point, why the attitude when I confronted them?

What would you have done?

Vanessa