Supermarket Fury

Going to the supermarket. Christ, is there anything worse? They just get bigger and bigger and when I finally leave I’ve lost 3 hours and wonder if I’ve been abducted by aliens. I know, I know. I’m lucky to have a supermarket to go to. Nonetheless. I feel like I am there every single day of my godless life. And you can’t just go in and buy the one thing you actually need, or at least I can’t, there are always half a dozen other things. Ooh, that’s on sale! Ooh, that’ll be good for dinner! Ooh, my favorite piece of junk food that is not at all good for me but I like to eat anyway! So, even though all I freaking needed was a loaf of bread that I can buy for 40 pence- I end up leaving with £35 worth of groceries. Granted, I buy a lot of reduced stuff that can be frozen and used for future meals, so I save money in the long run. I’m trying to bring my family round to trying the paleo diet, which I gather is just meat and veg and the money I’d save by shopping at the green grocer and the butcher and never setting foot in a supermarket makes me giddy with possibilities, I might finally be able to fix my sons bike! Lo and behold my family likes their carbs, thank you very much, so I may have to employ the use of stealth when making the switch. Though there is always the possibility of the old “I’m paying for the groceries, if you don’t like what I’m buying, get a job and buy your own.” That tends to stop the whining in it’s tracks…

What annoyed me recently (well, ok, a month ago) at the supermarket was the cashier. Usually they just ring the stuff up and make small talk (occasionally with me, usually with a colleague or the customer in front who won’t pick up their damn bags and GO already) but this one decided she needed to comment about what we were buying. Grrr. We’d gone in for only a few items but I’d come across quite a few sale items, of course. So we had three boxes of ice cream bars at 50 pence each for the kids, an apple tart that I thought would be a nice dessert one night for £1. Two boxes of my favorite cornettos, 2 for £2. And some other bits and bobs. Yes, there was a bit of junk. I joked about it to my husband. Yet this cashier decided she need to tell me all about weight watchers. And how half her grocery shopping is always vegetables. I tried to keep things light, and said something about how it’ll be nice when the kids go back to school and arent clamoring for ice cream all the time. To which she replied “Well that’s when you tell them they can have a piece of fruit!”

Sorry, guys. Kids with fat mommies aren't allowed ice cream!

This annoyed me. I didn’t say anything to her, other than just a “Oh, I do!” but the sheer audacity pissed me off. Why pass judgement on my purchases? I have three slim, healthy, active children. One of which prefers to snack on carrots more than anything else, and two who love salad and always have seconds. They arent allowed to drink soda, fast food is a rare treat and all their regular meals are homemade. They get told “If you’re that hungry, have a carrot or a piece of fruit” six times a day. The only one who eats to much junk in my household is me. And clearly I am an adult and perfectly capable of deciding for myself what and how much I eat. I have one child who hates fruit and veg and would prefer to eat junk all day. I don’t allow this. His favorite breakfast item is cereal, which I rarely buy. He has to eat more healthy food. If he doesnt eat his carrots at dinner, he gets no dessert, etc.

I suppose people just like to feel superior and I shouldn’t be offended, but it seems to illustrate once again that fat people are fair game for ridicule. I know I’m fat, I promise I’m not stupid and I really don’t need a lecture from the cashier on the value of eating vegetables. Neither do I need random people assuming that since I am fat, I am a simpleton incapable of appropriate parenting, especially as how the 6 year old next door is never without a can of coke and a packet of sweets, though his mom is thin as a rail. Shockingly enough, I don’t sit around eating junk and watching daytime telly all day, either.

So what I’d like to say to that cashier is this: “Look bitch, it’s the middle of August, the kids are off school and if I want to give them some damn ice cream, I will. And, by virtue of not being stupid, I know exactly how to lose weight when and if I choose to, so I really don’t need you to lecture me about weight watchers and fucking vegetables.”

Oh, the things they say.

Rafe, 5, in the bath-
“Who let the dogs out? Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo!

Olivia, 11, on a screaming match with her 14 year old brother-
“Well, APPARRANTLY, I am a freak, a cirque de freak ANNNNND a JERK!”

Devon, 14, on why he should not have to help with the dishes-
“WHAT? My leg hurts!!”
Me- “That didn’t stop you going to your best friends house for two hours.”
Devon- “Yeh, but it hurts now”
Me- “Tough Bananas, GO.”
Devon- drags himself on his stomach into the kitchen, moaning theatrically the whole way.

Rafe, 5, on birthday presents
“Mommy, I will get you a big trophy! That says “Happy Birthday AND I love you! FROM- TESCO’S!!!”

I’m not sure if he meant it would actually say from Tesco or that it would be purchased from Tesco. You can’t tell with that kid, he has an evil sense of humour.

Year 5

Devon, 5 and Tiffany, 7

Devon with his cousin, Tiffany. They used to be great friends, but my brother moved across town, and they stopped seeing each other so often. A battle was brewing between my brother and his ex wife around the time we were preparing to move oversea, and my niece was increasingly put in the middle. My son saw his cousin again the night before we flew out to England, and shortly afterwards my former sister in law cut off all contact between my family and my niece. I sent her a birthday present shortly after we moved but never knew if she even received it. Any gifts or cards I’ve sent since have not made it to her. I’m hurt and angry about what’s happened, but there is nothing I can do about it. I miss both my nieces terribly, and hope I’ll be able to see them both when I finally get a chance to go home.

Shared party

Ok, so the bowling alley party was not for his 5th birthday. I really have no clue then when it was then, probably number 6? Who knows. They gave him a commemorative bowling pin which was dated and everyone signed it. Ten odd years later, all the ink has long since faded or been wiped away. Think they need to look into using markers that are bowling pin safe?

Skater

Devon loved anything with wheels and was always getting a new skateboard for Christmas or his birthday. He loved his skateboard and still does enjoy occasional boarding, though he has graduated to bikes, and wants nothing more than a BMX. Currently about £300 I’m not willing or able to buy him one, as I just don’t have enough confidence in his ability to take care of his things, I am sure it would be stolen in the first month. He disagrees. But, I have history on my side. Hopefully, he will grow more responsible as he gets older.

Happy 5th birthday, Devon.

Year 4

Devon’s 4th birthday party was held at a bowling alley, and I guess that’s why I don’t have any pictures? a small family party and I don’t have any pictures because Devon has them all in his photo album. His 5th birthday was at the bowling alley, and I’m fairly sure I don’t have any pictures of that.

Anyway, the last few birthday pictures I’ve posted he hasnt been smiling and I don’t want anyone to think he was some miserable little sod of a kid, so I thought I’d use some pictures with smiles to celebrate year 4.

Graduate!

Devon graduated from preschool when he was 4. They had a proper ceremony and everything, he even got a diploma. He was so happy and had so much fun at the party. He started kindergarten that fall, and I’m sure I cried. My baby was growing up. God, I had no idea. He’ll be 14 in 11 days. Last night when talking about what he was going to do when he finished school, we were talking about the possibility of him going into the armed forces. Devon said to a friend of the family, “I’m not sure I should really leave mom with Olivia and Rafe though, they might put her in a care home, you know.” Apparently he thinks that once he leaves home I will age 50 years and no longer be able to take care of myself?

Devon, clown, some other child

We also attended my company picnic that year, which featured a clown, a bouncy castle, a barbecue and even an inflatable jousting tournament for the kids. This was my favorite year with Devon as a little one, he mellowed considerably from the terrible twos and three’s and real school (and all the associated trouble) was still a while off. He told me lovely jokes, and we were always out and about. His favorite thing to do that year was go to the park and feed the ducks. This is the year I’d have over again for the sheer joy of it.

Unplugging.

Since my son broke his leg a month ago, he has been bedridden. Or, rather, couch ridden. He spends his days on the couch, moving across the living room via crutches to his bed sometime around 10:00 or later at night. (I have more or less rescinded his bedtime, he’s not going to school so, really, whats the point?) In preparation for a very important math exam that he took today, he has spent most of the past week revising. However, every other minute of every other day the TV has been on. Constantly. On. Stupid kids show. Wii. Playstation. Movies. Stupid kids shows. I hate it. Really hate it. And since Dev is spending his days in front of the boob tube, the other two are getting accustomed to spending all their spare time in front of it as well. My 5 years olds favorite toys lay forgotten in his room and my daughters books are gathering dust.

Every 5 minutes I hear complaining from one child about how another child won’t let them A. play a game B. let them watch TV or C. share the remote or D. some other crime. My Sky planner is full of absolute crap from the Disney channel and MTV like “Zeke and Luther!” and “Pimp my Ride!”, which I keep having to delete in disgust.

So, I finally snapped. With Rafe hanging off me and demanding to play the playstation not 30 seconds after walking in the door following the 30 minute walk to his school and back to pick him up, driving to the shop to pick up some groceries, driving to Devons school to pick him up post exam, driving back to the younger kids schools to pick up my daughter and just then frantically searching for my pasta cookbook with the recipe for spaghetti sauce in it, I shouted that he needed to go upstairs and play with his toys RIGHT NOW!

Much crying ensued. Giving us both time to calm down, I started the spaghetti sauce, then went to talk to him. He apologized, I apologized, and then I explained to him why I was upset, and reminded him about all the great toys he had in his room. He then spent 45 minutes quietly and happily playing with his rocket ships.

I realized that I had been a lazy parent. Letting Dev get away with watching tv all day because what else was he going to do, and letting the others fall into the habit as well, because it was easy I guess. So, I explained to the kids that the TV and associated bits were now a privilege to be earned. They needed to read and play with toys and study and go outside. If they wanted TV they needed to do their chores and act kindly and just…earn it.

In the meantime I have started reading Watership Down aloud to them and they seem to be enjoying it so far.

Year 2

Devon’s 2nd birthday was a lot of fun. We had a barbecue, as we had for his 1st birthday. His hair was longer and he had the most beautiful curls. Winnie the Pooh was still a favorite of his so Pooh and Tigger graced the top of his cake for the 2nd year and he was a bit more reserved about digging in.

His personality was starting to come through by this point, a very strong willed and independent little boy on the outside, we knew he was going to be a lot like his mamma. Poor kid.

Are you sure about this? No fork?

Presents!

Year 1

Happy 1st Birthday, Devon!

Devon loved turning one. He had just started walking, he could say simple words and his birthday was a day full of cakes, balloons, kittens, presents, hugs and lots and lots of love. He was happy to oblige in the traditional 1st birthday antics involving shoving hands and face into his own specially created Winnie the Pooh cake and smearing frosting and cake all over his hair and body.

Happy Birthday!

We may have laughed at him. A lot. But he laughed too, and the cake was delicious.

14 years in 14 days

In honor of my eldest sons 14th birthday, the next 14 days will be a celebration of each year of his life here on the blog. Starting with tomorrows post of his first birthday, way back in June, 1998.

Devon, 1997

This is the very first picture ever taken of Devon. He is now the proud subject of over 5000. A special few will chronicle the first 14 years of his life over the next two weeks.

Cornwall 2010

Around this time last year I was not in a good place, and as I watched my settlement money from my unfair dismissal claim quickly dwindle, I knew I needed to get away before it was all gone and I was poor again.

 

So, I made last minute arrangements (as in “Hi, do you have a room free? Great, we’ll be there in 6 hours” kind of arrangements), arranged for the neighbor to keep an eye on the cats who had plenty of food and water and an open window so they could come and go (we live in a quite cul-de-sac and the neighbor would keep an eye on them). We threw all our gear in the car and we went. We spent a week in Cornwall, our 1st favourite place in the UK. We stayed in the former governess quarters of a large Victorian manor house, and spent our days taking long walks, going to the beach, exploring all the wonderful Cornish towns and villages (Mevagissey, Polperro, etc) and just really enjoying being together and not having to worry or stress about anything. (Well, not completely true, I took our big computer with us so I could finish an essay that was due imminently, but by our 3rd day I admitted defeat and arranged an extension instead. Good decision.)

Newquay, 2010 Olivia and Rafe

I love going on holiday with my family. I am glad we had that week in Cornwall last year, and grateful we had the ability to do it. Yes, I’m feeling ragged and tired and another Cornish holiday is exactly what I’m dreaming about right now. But that was a good time, and the memories and the pictures make me happy. So, I’m marking the calendar for next year, and hopefully we’ll be able to take a holiday to celebrate being a family, and not another one hiding from the problems that have been tearing us apart, though even those can offer some solace to a tired soul.

Parenting Styles idealistic vs realistic?

While I have dozens of blogs in my bookmarks folder that I read at least weekly, there are only a very few that are in my top sites and I click on daily (or as often as they post something new). One of these is my favourite, because I really do identify with the blogger and enjoy reading what she writes. I especially enjoy reading about her parenting style, as while it’s not to different from my own, there are some stark contrasts. I find her style of parenting to be on one hand refreshing, possibly even inspiring. On the other hand, I find it naive in its innocence, lacking perhaps in depth and I wonder if her children won’t be in for a nasty shock when one day they step out into the real world without her there to protect them.   This is of course, not a post meant to slam any other blogger, I only know of her parenting style that which she cares to share through her blog, and I’m not criticising her.

I only use her as an example because when I read her posts about parenting, I, of course, compare it to my own style and wonder which is best, ultimately. That, I don’t know. I am accused of being over protective of my kids, I am told I should give them more freedom, especially my oldest son.  I try to be fair, and I certainly don’t want my children to feel as if they are caged, so I consider it.

When I moved my oldest children to England not quite six years ago, I had these wonderful ideals about the childhood they would have. To some extent those ideals have been fulfilled. We take long rambling walks through the woods, go to the beach all the time, they climb trees, eat fruit straight off the branch,  know the joy of a snow day, and are sick to death of historical monuments and buildings. But the one ideal that has not been met is the one where the kids would spend days out playing, like I did and I imagine my parents before me. I built huts in fields, rode bikes, played in my friends houses, played hide and seek at twilight. My kids don’t do those things, or not often anymore.  Don’t get me wrong, they LOVE to do those things.

Smiley

But, Britain is a funny place. Children here are a strange breed. Having gone out to ride bikes with her big brother, my daughter has come home in tears, having been shoved off her bike and punched in the stomach by a bigger boy. My son has been the victim of a group attack after having gone to play at the skate park with friends, by kids he barely knew. He has also been the victim of random violence, coming home one evening.  The children who live across from us, who my kids used to be friends with and the older one went out to dinner with us for my sons birthday last year, turned nasty and started doing things like calling us names, throwing eggs at our house, even ringing our doorbell and running away. Their parents couldn’t care less.

Children who very much appear to be younger than 5 play outside on their own, or with slightly older siblings. Older teens roam the streets with beer in hand, shouting abuse and obscenities.

So, yes, I consider giving my children more freedom. I would even like to. But, it seems like it would be ridiculous to ever follow through. I worry about my daughter, she is only ten. It seems she is at an age where she is at risk of being kidnapped or even sexually assaulted. She is allowed certain freedoms, but very little compared to her friends. She complains about it, but I can only cringe at the freedoms her friends have.  Once while at the park with her friends after school (Daddy was there to keep an eye on her), one of her friends had a strange phone call from a man who said he wanted to meet her in the woods. The friend wanted to go into the woods to meet the man(!!), but my daughter talked her out of it. I have no idea if the girl really did get that strange phone call, but the point is that had my husband not been there, there would have been no adult supervision whatsoever. He was there only because I refuse to let my daughter play at the park alone with her friends, the other girls parents would have had no idea he was there. Another cringeworthy example is my daughters (former) best friends freedoms, we took her out Trick or Treating last halloween, and for fun stopped at her house, at some point after dark. We told her father we’d have her home probably in an hour or so, and he said not to worry, she could walk by herself (!), after dark, on Halloween!  I was gobsmacked.  (We, of course, dropped her off)

Rocket Man

I worry about my 13 year old son, who is at an age where I myself was experiencing my first days in juvenile detention, sleeping on the streets, smoking, having sex and doing drugs. Needless to say, I lose countless hours of sleep worrying about him. I give him some freedoms, he is allowed to go out to “play” but I insist on regular, in person, check ins. I like to know where he plans to be and who he plans to be with. He gets ever so annoyed about my frequent reminders about not smoking, drinking, or kissing. I am strict. Failing to check in and being gone for hours and hours is a guaranteed road to grounding. I seem too strict but I find my method works. I have a better idea of where he is and what he’s doing. He has a failsafe, he can always get out of uncomfortable situations because his mom makes him check in and after years of this, I know that when he fails to check in it is usually because he is having a good time with his friends, riding bikes or building forts, and I worry slightly less. If something off were going on, he would be more likely to check in and not go back out.

I find that far from constraining them, my limits allow for more quality family time. We can hardly take those long rambling walks, go to the beach or enjoy £1 bowling or movies if the kids are never around. The kids moan about it, but they are far happier when they are out with us than when they come home having been with their friends all day.

As parents we always have our kids best interests at heart. The other blogger obviously wants her kids to have an innocent childhood, blissfully unaware of the bad shit that happens in real life. This is commendable, but I wonder if it’s realistic?  On the other hand, I believe in being honest and open with my kids. They know all about the bad shit. My daughter knows what to do if someone tries to grab or lure her off the street. My son knows about smoking and drugs and sex. They know that sometimes kids get killed, and they know that the world is not necessarily a nice place.  Is this a good way for them to grow up, have they lost some of their innocence?

Easter Cake

I never quite know which method is best, and I sometimes covet the apparently idealised childhood her kids seem to have. But, I can’t quite remove myself from the stories of bad shit that happens to kids, or from my own experiences, enough to let go and let them have the freedom they want, and others tell me to give. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? Do I need to cut the cord? Or is my parenting style encouraging stronger ties with their family, giving them a strong support structure and keeping their minds open to all the opportunities out there, beyond spending 6 hours jumping on a trampoline, culminating in a level of boredom that will lead to drinking/smoking/making out?

I am truly interested in this, because I must admit to getting irritated at the constant squeaking of the people involved in my sons education who listen to his complaints and refer to me as overprotective and controlling. I disagree with them, I am not blind and see the way kids are being raised around me, and surely it is my job as a parent to do whats best for my child? Is my 13 year old son really old enough to make his own decisions and be trusted with the level of responsibility necessary to keep himself safe and healthy on a day to day basis when is being pressured? I wasn’t. Hell, I can’t even trust him to remember to feed the cats every day. Is it really safe enough to allow my daughter to play alone at the park with only other 10 year old girls with her, or walk home alone late in the evening?  Do I need to take into account that we live in Nowhere,Hampshire as opposed to Central London?

I wonder what others opinions are on this? If you have kids, how much freedom do you allow them? Is family time more important than friend time and do you let your kids be aware of the bad things that can happen, or do you keep them insulated from it as much as possible?  Would you prefer your kids had extracurricular activities and interests or would you rather they enjoyed the freedom of going out to play with their friends after school and on weekends?