Children are Always your Children!

‘We get 18 delicious summers with our children. This is one of your 18. If that's not perspective, I don't know what is’

My idea of a 'delicious summer'!

This quote  has been widely shared on social media, particularly as the long summer break gets closer. My attention was drawn to it by someone I follow on Instagram (@Ned in the Clouds) who has two young children, one of whom has autism. She rightly points out that not all children will be able to fly the coop the minute they turn eighteen - they may well need support to enjoy ‘delicious summers’ well into adulthood. But even if this is not the case, what does it say about all those moments you are currently sharing? Are your children counting down their years until they no longer have to endure a Eurocamp holiday or family picnic? Of course not. My children are now in their thirties (whisper it quietly but one of them still lives at home, albeit with his girlfriend and a plan to  save for their own place) and we still have a good time together.

Good times!

Over the past ten days I have enjoyed a weekend visit from my daughter, now a proud house owner ‘oop North’, and a wonderful day with my son.

All the ticks!

Beth and I spent lots of time on the beach with her dog, and had a glorious walk in the woods, collecting ticks! (Ugh - I love nature, but cannot, for the life of me, see the purpose of these hideous blood sucking creatures) We had a family barbecue, made a coffee last an hour in Costa, and watched the England v. Panama game together - cheering, shouting and saying ‘We never score from corners’ every time England were awarded one! 

Apparently we do score from corners!

To be fair, my son and I spend less time together these days but, on Wednesday, we had a real adventure. Danny Boyle has been shooting his latest film, written by Richard (Notting Hill) Curtis, in and around Gorleston and put out a request for 5000 extras for a beach concert scene. I applied for tickets when I saw it on the Book of Face, but assumed I had been unlucky, as I’d heard nothing more. By chance, on Sunday evening, I checked my junk mail, and there were two tickets! Normally my hubby would have come with me, but was in London for a meeting, my sister had other stuff to do that day and I am sadly lacking in non-working friends so thought I’d either miss out or go alone. However…against all the odds my great big hairy son said he’d spend the day on the beach, with his Mum!

Open-topped park and ride!

And what a day it was. We had ‘park and ride’ tickets and as we queued for the bus I saw that one bus was an open-topped double decker. I could not believe it when it turned out to be our transport! I’d just got over that excitement when someone handed me two tickets - one for a free burger and one for a free ice cream! Sod being in my sixties - I felt about ten again!

Free food excitement!

The atmosphere on the beach was brilliant - the sun was shining, there was music playing and there were thousands of smiling faces. 6000 to be precise - apparently the most extras used in a film in Britain. I filled up at one point - it was emotional to be a part of something this special. Danny Boyle directed us to ‘go mental’ when we saw the protagonist of the film - a musician who lived in a World where he is the only person who knows about the Beatles - perform a song that we’d never heard before. A punk version of ‘Help’ - so hard not to join in!  

Part of a crowd

Anyway, the crowd, including my lovely Aunty, who is in her late eighties, duly ‘went mental’ several times, for different ‘takes’. It was especially exciting as a helicopter filmed us while we jumped about like mad things, its shadow appearing across the front of the hotel being used as the stage. I maybe shouldn’t mention the fact that my Aunty looked up at it and, like the apocryphal penguins gazing at an aeroplane, fell over backwards! Luckily she fell onto Jake’s blow up chair, so only her dignity was damaged!

Easy to spot, and Aunty-catching!

It was an amazing day - we managed to spot ourselves on the local news (note to self: the camera really does add at least two stone!), and now can’t wait for the film to be released. My son’s Aunty-rescuing blow-up bed is bright orange, so we should be easy to spot! 

It’s difficult to explain why it felt so special but it has something to do with being a part of something, part of a crowd with one purpose. Similar to watching football I suppose.  But for me, what made it really special was being there with my boy. The fact that he spent his day off with me means as much to me as anything else. That, and the fact that it didn’t cost us a penny - best freebie ever!

Delicious!

So yes, appreciate your children / grandchildren while they’re little. Do lots of nice things with them and create masses of glorious memories. But remember that, when they’re grown up and living their own lives, the time they choose to spend with you can be even more special - it may even be ‘delicious’

Just saying...

Bless me reader, for I have sinned - it is eight weeks since my last post! To be honest, anything I would usually write at this time of year is mostly related to my issues dealing with shorter days, how much I dislike winter, in spite of my love of cosiness and candles, and how hibernation seems really appealing!

Loving candles...

But I’m not going to write about that!

The dust has now settled after the festive season, and my house is now back to ‘normal’, with the welcome addition of some new nice things, and I have had time to reflect on the past few weeks. We were lucky enough to have a lovely Christmas - visits from family, good food and thoughtful gifts - and lots of happy memories created. 

Glorious plant stand! 

Hare and tea light lanterns!

It struck me that two of the things I enjoyed the most were a visit to my granddaughter’s ballet class and seeing my great niece, perform in professional panto at a local theatre (oh yes she did!) It was completely joyous to watch both these beautiful girls, aged 6 and 8, dance and act. 

She's behind you! 

How lucky they are to have parents that value the performing arts, and have the wherewithal to allow them to do it. It is no coincidence that both their mums danced when they were younger.

My children did not dance, but they did both learn instruments and this gave them a richness in their lives that they wouldn’t otherwise have had. Previous Christmases have seen me proudly watching my son perform the Snowman on his violin, and quietly snivelling as my daughter played ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ to me on the piano. Despite my changing finances, following my divorce, I was determined that, whatever happened, I would continue to fund my children’s music lessons, and, to this day, they both have a love of music and playing their instruments.

Still playing their instruments, many many years after this!!

And then I started to wonder about all those children whose parents didn’t dance, didn’t have the benefit of private music lessons, but who would gain so much from the discipline, the concentration, the teamwork that comes from being involved in performing? The answer used to be, of course, that all children would have these opportunities when they went to school. But in these straitened times you don’t have to google for too long to find examples of schools cutting back on their performing arts provision  - not only can they not afford to employ specialist staff, they also feel that they  can no longer afford the curriculum time. There is so much pressure on schools to deliver incremental improvements in maths and english that they are almost scared to do anything else. Before I retired I worked in a class delivering specialist autism provision. I can say now (safe from Ofsted’s reach) that if the curriculum didn’t fit, we pretty much ignored it. 

A vehicle for communication...

We used it as a vehicle to deliver what our students really needed - opportunities to communicate, interact and cope with things not always going to plan (a common occurrence in my classroom!) Our students were so caught up in their own consciousness that, sometimes, our bonkers music sessions were the only thing that they did together. Did it fit the curriculum? Probably not. Did the children benefit? Definitely. Not so sure about the staff - I think they still have nightmares! The point is that sometimes access to something other than a prescriptive curriculum can have untold benefits. 

Watching her friends

There’s a huge amount of maths in music, and watching my granddaughter hanging onto the words of her dance teacher and watching the other dancers made me realise how hard she was concentrating. I found a fascinating article about how a school in Bradford has improved its SATs results by giving its pupils six (yes, six) hours of music a week 

It actually scares me that some of our children, especially those living in socially deprived areas, could grow up experiencing an ever narrowing curriculum and miss out on experiences that could not only support them academically, but also help them to be more rounded individuals as they go through life. 

Just saying…

A very good reason not to camp...

Never be the same again!

Despite being of a certain age, I like to think that I embrace new technology - I’m writing this on my MacBook and use my iPad and iPhone on a daily basis. I enjoy online shopping and social media, and love how I can engage with people with similar interests on Instagram, even though I don't know them in person.

There is, however, one technological phenomenon that leaves me cold. Pop-up tents. Now I have been camping, in my dim and distant past, and remember all too well the stress, arguments and threats of divorce that accompanied the end of a long journey and the erecting of a piece of canvas using sticks, pegs and bits of string. So I can understand why someone wanted to improve that experience, but all they did was shift it to the other end of the holiday. Pop-up tents may pop up, but they sure as hell don’t pop down again. And this technology hasn't limited itself to tents - you can get pop-up gazebos, garden shelters and windbreaks. And they are all equally impossible to ‘unpop’.

Already wonky - or on the huh!

We bought a, thankfully, cheap child-sized shelter for the garden when our grandchildren were small. We duly popped it up on a sunny day, and it was great - affording much needed protection from the sun and a place to enjoy a picnic. At the end of the day, the children went home, we tidied the garden and optimistically fetched the bag for the shelter. Fools! The world is divided into two groups of people - one group that can unpop a popup shelter, and one that can’t. What I discovered on that fateful Sunday evening was that my family is entirely made up of those in the latter group. After struggling for some considerable time, we resorted to the instructions. 

You're having a laugh!

That made things even worse! I can follow a recipe, I can operate a washing machine and drive a car, but these instructions made absolutely no sense. We ended up with a bent and mangled shelter, that got thrown behind a shelving unit in the spare bedroom!

This annoyance is only equalled by the smugness of the people who happen to fall within the ‘able to unpop’ group, who can, with a few seemingly simple hand movements, put a huge tent in a tiny bag. Someone needs to tell them that it isn't polite to smile and say, ‘It’s so easy, don't know what all the fuss is about’ 

Ugh -so smug!

I’m convinced that the ability to unpop a tent is genetically defined, in the same way that some people can roll their tongues. If you can’t do it the first time you try, then you will never be able to learn how to. I’m sure someone could carry out some research and write a useful dissertation about it - at least that way the non-unpoppers would know to stop trying!

I know I am not alone - last Sunday we sat on the cliffs at Southwold, eating our sausage rolls and watching a man confidently pick up his pop-up shelter and start to fold it. To give him his due, he persevered for at least ten minutes before throwing it aside and folding up the blanket instead. His wife (I’m presuming that, because they had three children, but anyway she was a she) picked it up and, without doing anything at all, put it in the bag. The smugness swept up to the top of the cliff, and I swear she looked desperately round for someone to ‘high five’. Her partner just walked off...

Never been unpopped!

The next day I met up with some former colleagues for a picnic lunch. The host has a lovely garden and the children there played happily - some of them in a pop-up tent. We discussed the issues with folding them up, and she said,’Oh I can’t - I just throw it in the summer house!’

At least I can put this one away!

We have since bought a different sun shelter for the garden - this one has poles and strings and, while it takes longer to erect, at least I am confident in my ability to put it away at the end of the day!

Tradition...tradition!

My patchwork family - anything but traditional!

Although Springtime is widely regarded as a time of rebirth, it can be a difficult time for me and my siblings, as we lost both our parents at this time of year. We each remember them in a variety of ways, but one of my favourites is through the continuation of family traditions (Is it just me who instantly thinks of Fiddler on the Roof when I hear the word ‘tradition’?)

This year's Hot Cross buns - odd shape, but delicious!

Every Easter, when I was a child, I woke to the smell of Hot Cross buns being baked on Good Friday. My Dad worked in a bakery, so Mum could easily have bought them, but she chose to make them instead, getting up at the crack of dawn, so that they would be ready for breakfast - I always had special ones without dried fruit! When I married and left home, I continued this tradition - sometimes more successfully than others - and still miss ringing my mum on Good Friday morning to tell her if my buns turned out okay. The years have passed, but I still get up early to make Hot Cross Buns, and now my daughter does too. 

My daughter's Instagram version - far more stylish!

Instead of phone calls, we compare notes on Facebook and Instagram, but the tradition continues and forges a link to our family's past.

Boiled eggs, 2016...

Another Easter tradition for us has been boiled eggs for breakfast on Easter Sunday, complete with silly faces - another thing my daughter has continued. I don't know how or why this bonkers idea came about, but we always do it on Easter Sunday. 

Boiled eggs 2017...no discernible difference!

The other thing we have to do, of course, is turn the egg shell upside down when we have finished, pretend we haven't eaten our egg, then smash it with a spoon! Hilarious, right?! Probably not, but part of our family heritage.

He's been, but can you spot the cherries?

Christmas is another time redolent with customs and traditions - as many as there are families on this earth, I should think. Marrying them together when families merge can be quite tricky, but they tend to evolve and change into new traditions. One of the first Christmas presents my Dad bought for my Mum was a dress with cherries attached to it. Mum said that the seams quickly split on the dress itself, but the cherries adorned their Christmas tree every year. After Mum died, I became the keeper of the cherries, and each year I reminisce as I put them next to the fairy at the top, thinking about Christmasses past. 

Hideous Christmas Rodney!

There are other ornaments that mean a lot too - my son always insists on putting up the ‘rodneys’ which are hideous gorillas but which remind him of his childhood festive times, while I continue to hang onto pipe cleaner santas and toilet roll snowmen that the children made at school.

Family traditions are wonderful things - they provide a link to the past and a bridge to the future. When my children were small, I would put them to bed and say, “Night, night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite” to which they would reply, “Ants in your pants!” I have absolutely no idea why, and neither do they, but I really hope that, when they have children, they will all say the same thing, and think of me when they do! 

Why? Tradition, tradition!