Watch Your Step, And Theirs

I have found the cycle of baby proofing, toddler proofing and then retiring these precautions as they become obsolete very interesting.

Like when you have a new born there are really no extra precautions you need to take, because they cannot move an inch, as much as they try to.

When Max’s cot was built, not by me, but by a competent person, I thought they had made a gross error.

There was no way that the mattress was at the right height, it was no more than lipped by the sides of the cot.

But I soon learnt that the competent person, was indeed that, and that babies do not jump around very much.

Then they can roll over, so you need to move things out of roll reach.

Crawling requires a new level of small item removal, and then there is the whole grabbing things to pull themselves up phenomenon.

Probably a good time to start sticking those plastic inserts into the plug sockets.

Stair gates serve great purpose, and not just on stairs. I used one on the kitchen door when Max was approximately between one and two years.

The reasons were two fold, to keep him out while I was cooking, and to keep him from the cooker while it was on.

I know a kid that used a hot oven door for the getting oneself into the vertical game, and due to the fact that they hold their weight against the object they use, this was not a good idea at all.

When we lived in a small bungalow, while our house project was going on, the use of stair gates was limited to the travel one, during stays at others who were lucky enough to have a flight of stairs.

And as Junior’s competence at using the apple and pears increased, that use diminished to zero.

However hot on the heels of his clumsy day earlier this week he gave me a bit of a shock, and I am currently re-appraising the whole situation again.

During the night, or the early hours of the morning, it is not unusual for my son to have a wander to my room for a snuggle and snooze with his daddy.

A couple of times this week he has hot-footed, or more cold-footed, into my pit at around 6:00 - 6:30, nuzzling up to me for sixty minutes or so before we physically get up for the day.

It has never really worried me, in fact I have actually enjoyed it this week.

But one of the nights, he did it a little earlier.

If he ever does this it is because he needs a little comfort, or is not feeling himself, I think.

Colds, or if he has gone to bed a little unhappy perhaps.

He woke me as he was making his way to my bed, I sat up, startled a bit, as I was unsure exactly what had woken me to begin with.

I quickly remembered I was a parent, and then focused on my three-foot bundle of joy cutting a mazy route to my room.

There is effectively a small corridor from my bedroom door, past our others, to Max’s at the other end of the house.

He also has to come past the stairs.

Not usually a problem.

But this time, he was half-asleep and clearly confused.

I think he may even have thought I was still downstairs, doing my jobs.

He wobbled, sleepy eyed, dangerously close to the top of the staircase, until I shouted him.

It was in enough time for him to safely amend his direction of travel, and in a few moments he was in my bed.

A few moments more and he was sound asleep again.

I however was tachycardic for a few moments, before I spent the next few hours worrying about my wilful neglect of my child’s safety.

I know you can not prevent them hurting themselves all the time, I have had enough reminders of that just this week, but I hope that I am providing an environment that there are no serious accidents waiting to happen.

When my child woke for the next day – which seemed about 30 seconds after I had actually got back to sleep – we had a little chat about why he had wandered across the landing.

He did indeed confirm that he thought I would still be downstairs, and was feeling a little poorly.

I told my son that if he is tired or sleepy and needs to come down the stairs, he should call me, or if that does not work, bum-shuffling down the stairs may be a safer approach than the traditional method.

While puzzled, I think he got what I was telling him. And perhaps I was overreacting, I was not fully compos mentis myself as I saw him coming, so he may well have been fully able to make a safe journey to our ground floor.

But just in case I have re-located my travel stair gate, but for now, I am putting my trust in my son and my night-time hearing, of course.

Are You Ready For JC’s Birthday? Christ No. It’s Max’s First.

This seems to have become the current tourette-like prompted question that fills the air amongst parents in the playground when silence simply will not do.

Generally the conversation between parents, that do not know each other well, can be a bit bleak.

Not with me of course, I am quite the hoot.

You can almost see the cogs grappling for conversation topics, hooking into anything seasonal, and I suppose as we are only a few days from December, talk of Christmas is nearly justified.

Can not wait for January and the reviews of everyone’s respective festive activities.

The anniversary of Christ’s birthday, if indeed the records have been accurate, the stories were all genuine and he actually ever existed as a being, always hits me ill prepared.

My tiny rebellious streak and distain for acting to instruction and convention means I like to make the minimum amount of effort at the last possible point in time, and still get everything sorted that I want sorted.

The uneducated call that lazy.

I am actually in front this year as I have already ordered a turkey.

But my neighbour, by erecting two white trees on his garden, and starting to decorate his home with lights, has triggered a minor panic attack.

I need a list, lists are good.

Breaking stuff down into smaller parts, makes things seem easier, and they also give you a much better idea of how much time these arrangements are going to take, and when you can do them.

Being in a new home I actually need to formulate a new festive plan, but I also still have jobs to finish in the house, that had a pre-xmas deadline on my imaginary gantt chart.

There is an artificial tree somewhere, most likely in my parents’ loft.

But while reading another blog I was thinking drawing a tree on the wall might be quite avant-garde, and inexpensive of course.

My idea to buy a live tree and plant it in the garden afterwards to use again, will have to remain exactly that, an idea generated in 2008.

Cards I suppose. Get some cheap ones for Max’s nursery chums, which could perhaps double as invites for his small party I need to plan and squeeze in.

Thinking as I type – is that the typing equivalent of thinking out loud?

I do have a list somewhere that has present ideas on it for Max. This will diminish as family and friends ask for an inkling of what would satisfy the boy’s desires.

There have also been things I have spotted for my close family and friends, and I mean close.

Over the past few seasons I have made a concerted effort to bring down the amount of people I have to worry about, and in turn, the number procuring stuff for me.

It is a bit daft the buying for each other cycle. And making it larger than necessary in adulthood is positively silly.

There will be further reduction work done this time.

Not sure how succesful they will be, or if I will get my message across without sounding tight or heartless.

However I am sure I will be ready, or my ready, when the UK's next bank holiday occurs.

Clumsy Days

I was greeted at nursery with the usual smile and gusto, but I also spotted something in the hand of Max’s key stage worker.

That something sadly turned out to be the accident book.

No immediate panic, they would have called, and I do try not to do that, in any case.

Turns out my mini colossus had taken a fall, a trip worsened by another kid from the nursery falling on top of him.

The form detailed he had a grazed chin, similar below his nose, and he had cut his lip.

His assigned nursery employee said, “There was more blood than bother, and although it does not look good, Max was soon over it.”

An attitude I respect, in both worker and my child.

The form was duly signed, and I continued round the corridor to inspect and comfort my little soldier.

Indeed, it did not look pretty, but he did not get upset, and was not in a rush to tell me what had gone on.

As a positive we were having one of his friends back for play and tea, so not much time for him to feel sorry for himself, a positive distraction.

We wandered home and I noticed he was a little more sensitive than usual. Not happy when things were not going his way.

Like wanting to be the leader on our journey back, and hogging all our lightsabers – yes we, and I mean WE, have several.

That seemed to calm when he won possession of the Darth Vader costume.

However when he tried to put it on, he slipped, fell, and scratched his back on our little filing cabinet.

Clumsy.

He was again quickly comforted and calmed, and I helped him safely into the outfit.

After we had dinner and pudding, play duly recommenced.

Amongst the tomfoolery was playing with, or within, a huge cardboard box we have yet to destroy completely.

It was squeezed into another room from our hall, so as not to wake the baby sister of our visitor, who had come with her dad to pick him up, and was asleep in her stroller.

They had got the Roary The Racing Car track in front of their make-do-den.

As I turned to talk to the collecting parent I heard a ‘yowk’ coming from that room.

Junior was holding his backside, and the track was no longer in one piece.

It was difficult to work out what had happened, other than it was clear my boy had bashed himself yet again.

Clumsy just seems to like to hang around.

I scooped my crying lad up for more comfort and suggested he was not having a very good day.

The weeping wee man gargled out, “Daddy, I don’t like it when I have bad days.”

Neither do I son, neither do I.

And I hope clumsy now takes a very long walk from our world.

Special Dispensation

I am a bit inconsistent with my acceptance of different consideration because of my circumstances.

Generally however, if I feel it is warranted, and does not make me feel uncomfortable I will take any allowance with aplomb.

Today is one of those occasions.

I have an entry in a fortnightly contest, titled;

Best of British Mummy Bloggers Carnival.

It was brought to my attention by A Modern Mother. Who as one of the organisers and originators, said entries from British daddies were more than welcome too.

So you will find a link back to me here, as well as some links to other UK mummy parent bloggers.

I am no stickler for political, or title, correctness. Noting on this particular occasion Potty Mummy has referred to the contest as being the best of parents’ carnival.

It is nice to be included within this group, as I accept I am not actually a mother, even though I sometimes feel I am trying to fill the traditional role of one.

Funny, I wonder how many single moms think of themselves as filling an absent father’s role.

Anyway, pop over and have a look, and vote for your favourite (allegedly)

And if you have come the other way, a good place to start here is at my about me posts, one recently added.

About Us Two, Two

I wrote an about us post when I first started this blog.

It served great purpose at the time, as it set out, in relatively short form, who we were and why we had arrived here, in cyberspace.

As with any sort of static post, it quickly becomes out of date. Pretty much like any shirt you buy with the date on. All those that bought Olympics merchandise this year will look like skinflints shortly.

So it has needed an update for sometime, but rather than doing that - I would like to keep the original for prosperity and to see how much my writing has changed since - I thought a whole new about us post would be better.

Sadly I am still a widower, and my own clock has ticked on a year, which makes me 31.

My son Max will be four very soon, and shall also be hosting his first ever proper birthday party.

Samantha, my wife and Max’s mommy, died in August 2005, which means we have been on our own for over three years.

If you would like to read more about this time in our lives a good place to start is here.

In that time, we have both done a lot of growing our hair, and we very much look forward to what tomorrow brings, and are thankful for what we have had, rather than dwell on what might have been.

It has been a time of great reflection for me, and a period of immense and rewarding learning. As I experience what it means to be a single parent to a wonderful and not-so-little boy. My mini-colossus.

We are building a new life, which has included physically building a new house, but has also been about finding a new existence, and career path.

Quickly after being widowed I decided I needed to find something that I enjoyed doing, rather than just doing a job to pay the bills.

This ‘something’ also had to fit around being at the school gate, because I though it vital for both my son and me, that we had each other and I did not want to rely on anyone else.

Writing is something I have pursued and will continue to do so, but due to my nature of wanting a regular steady income, and the fact that the market needs some persuading to give work to a novice amongst many more gifted scribers, I am also looking at other things to do part-time.

I am presently doing some child mentoring, on a voluntary basis. To see if it is something I would like to get paid to do, and if indeed, someone would actually like to pay me to do it.

Max will start school during September 2009, and this really is the cut off point I had budgeted to, before I really need to work properly again. Get the incomings at least matching the outgoings.

This blog has been good to me on several counts. It gets me writing regularly in some form, I have engaged some wonderful people, and learnt much that would have just passed me by.

I like to write about what influences us. How our little picture actually is part of the much bigger one.

My writing, much as my life, is done with a smile on its face, and hopefully with a bit of humour.

I hope you enjoy reading my posts and what we get up to.

Your comments are always appreciated, and if you want to get in touch by email with anything, then my address is contactspd [at] gmail [dot] com

So, Who Is Going To Look After Me?

The relationship I had with my late wife was a wonderful one.

She really got me, and I would like to think I understood her.

I would often hear her say “You know just what to say (or I need).”

And there were many a time I would think, if not utter, the same things.

Yes, we had one of those wonderful relationships that would warm others around us, while also making them feel a little bit sick.

It was not just the interaction and understanding we held, being able to lift, comfort, cajole or giggle one another, we also split our responsibilities really well.

We were both independent, and able to operate under our own thunder, but did enjoy the practical benefits an effective relationship can bring.

Cooking would be shared, cleaning would generally come under Sam’s remit, as would grass-cutting mine.

Cars, holidays, household bill reconciliation and locking-up were all tasks I naturally assumed.

There were jobs I used to hate, like ironing, shopping for gifts and getting new clothes.

My wife shared my loathing of re-flattening clothes, but loved the latter two.

Remembering birthdays, anniversaries and buying appropriate presents were no longer my problems.

I was very grateful, and rather perversely I thought, Samantha was too. She was doing a chore that she actually largely enjoyed.

The same was true of fashion.

She was a snappy dresser, and enjoyed reading about, or ogling the world’s glitterati in various magazines, to see what she was going to buy next.

I did not manage to totally escape this, and I was definitely looked after in the wardrobe department.

Again, she KNEW not to push me too far.

My jeans-t-hood-trainers comfort zone was ebbed away at gently.

But throughout our time together replenishment of my clothing stocks were bought, or most certainly, brought about, by my wonderful lady.

I dislike going shopping for clothes.

It is the general smarm-e-ness of nice clothes shop employees, together with my own inability to accept popular fashion and general inability to decide what I like rather than what looks good.

Also because of being tight frugal, I like to shop at more cost effective outlets. But I also have a great fear of walking into a room filled with people making the same choices from the UK high streets’ finest.

I have bought clothes since my wife died. I like the shop Pull and Bear, mainly because their clothes are cost-effective, and until they recently opened stores in Liverpool and London were not available on this isle.

Regular trips to Europe meant that I would make reasonably effort free visits to their stores, at enough frequency to not run out of togs.

However, as I am taking a sabbatical from temporary foreign sabbaticals, these visits have somewhat dried up.

And a by-product of this is that my current clothes are falling apart. I do not have a pair of jeans without a major defect – ripped, split pockets, missing buttons – even my wallet has fallen apart.

At the moment whenever someone asks what I might like for my birthday or for Christmas, unless I desperately need something, I opt for clothes and rely on their fashion aptitude being better than mine.

This has become not enough.

But at least my shoes still fit me.

I am going to have to go shopping. And I am currently in the process of recruiting likely shopping partners.

Those that can make the whole process much less painful.

My wonderful sister tops my list of targets, which also contains the names of some of my female friends.

She is looking at her schedule to see if she can do a day before the New Year.

And I think everyone at Liverpool’s Pull and Bear store should cross their fingers that she does.

Too Big For His Boots

In the past I have prided myself on attention to detail, and my ability to be organised, albeit done in a much nearer horizontal position than being upright and vertical.

My skill set and aptitude, I think, have served me well in my baptism to parenting, and particularly in operating a routine.

That routine can be broken down into parts, like the regular 24 hour schedule of sleep, eating, washing, getting dressed and undressed and so on.

Then there are things like the weekly activity scheme, making sure we squeeze the right things in.

Our diet rota.

And of course, the replenishment of suitable clothing cycle.

It is a reminder of my gratefulness of having the care of a boy rather than a girl.

I am fashion inept at best, and buying regularly for a girlie would have completely outstripped my skill set.

The truth is I have not bought a great deal of clothes for my son. I generally have only bought things I have either really liked, or if there has been a sudden need for them, or indeed if I have stolen ideas had a brainwave.

Like a raincoat, or fleece, or pair of crocs for coming in and out of the garden.

As Max’s birthday is only three days from Christmas, people who would buy gifts for him often buy him clothes for one and toys for the other.

I also push people this way, and give then sizes of things we need, so if we have an abundance of clothes in his present size I would ask people for the next size up, so we have stock for his inevitable lengthening and widening.

This has generally worked, with the odd top-up here and there. Others also buy odds and sods that catch their eyes.

Shoes have been a different matter as I have always relied upon Clarks.

I have always had good experiences in their stores, plus they make such good shoes that are fitted so well.

I have usually arranged regular visits to their stores, and quite often not purchased anything, as if his shoes still fit, they tell you so, rather than try and force new shoes on you.

However just before we went out on one of our school holiday adventures, Max complained that his shoes hurt.

It was not an immediate problem, as it was a kind of wellington day anyway.

As it happens we managed to squeeze a visit to the shoe shop in that day. Where I was advised that he was half-a-shoe size too big for his current pair.

How could I have missed that?

Then when putting on my his favourite Star Wars pyjamas, there was a discernable gap between both his trouser and ankle, and sleeve and wrist.

I looked at the label, they were size 18 months. Whoopsy.

Replacement Clone Wars PJs were procured at the next available opportunity.

I do take solace in the fact that he does seem to have a growth spurt just lately.

Confirmed by him coming home from a day with grandparents with hoody sleeves someway short of way they should be.

Thanks goodness it will be his birthday and Christmas soon.

Tractor Lesson

With 'Tractor Dave'.

During our recent weekendstart

How Much Kid?!

Yesterday I banged on about what a fantastic weekend we enjoyed together.

I actually started the post to rant a little about the prices, or more specifically, how they are applied at many of the haunts we like to visit.

It has been brewing for a good time, but yesterday I was distracted by my thoughts of actually why we are enjoying such a good time at the moment.

I think we are reaching a new stage in our lives.

However that does not mean my exorbitant admission charge seething has gone away, and one of my regular, and valued, comment leavers reminded of it, as I caught up on my blog.

That was actually the only downside of our day at Diggerland, the cost.

I can see why they charge £15 for admission, to cover their huge set-up costs, which are actually rather garishly displayed on each of the attractions it offers.

And £180,000 for bumper cars. I think they were done.

It is the same at other places, I mean places like the Sea Life Centre and the Safari Park must have massive upkeep expenses.

Which makes me feel a little better when handing over my money.

I also think although some of these places are expensive, there are still ways to get your money’s worth, and indeed turn your visits into value for money experiences.

Like our visit to the land of all things JCB.

We went on a lot of rides, and comparing with those on a fairground, we would have spent more money.

While that was true for us, it was not true for Auntie I, who still had to pay the full price, even though she was not going to enjoy any of the facilities herself.

Well, £15, for a few goes on the lav is a bit pricey.

And charging a 4-year-old the same as an adult also feels a bit immoral.

The place we about-turned from during half-term charges children more than adults, which I would get if the adults price is nominal, but it is not.

We currently also enjoy a bargain rate at Thomas Land which is just down the road from us.

Presently we pay £14 for entry, and get a great day of fun. But from next year, as he passes his fourth birthday, that price rises to £42.

£19 for him and £23 for me.

But as I spend the majority of my time watching him, or sitting beside him on rides he can not ride solo, I do not really believe that is the correct way of charging.

And sadly it will probably mean we shall not go, so ultimately it has to be the wrong price, doesn’t it?

Weekends? No Chance. Weekstarts More Like

They should not be called weekends, because it is when they really start for me, especially this week.

We have had an absolute belter.

Us two are really in the groove at the moment, we are really enjoying each other’s company, and this, most definitely, is a time to enjoy my son growing up.

The pain that I usually feel because Samantha is missing all this is still there, but I feel I am learning to deal with it in a way that does not dampen our enjoyment, and the joy we both experience from new firsts together.

This really is a great time in our lives, and I am determined to enjoy every minute of it.

We have time together and time apart, and will enjoy ourselves when in the company of others too.

But hot on the heels of a great school holiday we have been off for a short break, visiting some great friends.

They run an equestrian centre, which is absolutely fantastic, and means there are all sorts of things going on that my little treasure gets absolutely enthralled with.

From the minute we arrived, which was at the start of a show jumping evening, he has had a whopping-great-big-smile on his face.

He loved watching the horses, and getting little jobs, like helping ‘Tractor Dave’ let the horses in and out of the arena.

There were other kids there, a bit older than him, but he soon had befriended them and enjoyed sharing a couple of toys, when the horses’ charm had subsided.

We had also taken a toy for their dog, and he loved giving it to him, and throwing it for him during the whole time we were there.

The simple things are always the best, strapping the wellington boots on and taking the dog for a walk around the nearby woods, was a ridiculous pleasure.

Going to watch their daughter’s boyfriend play football, and then joining the team for a drink and a packet of crisps in their clubhouse was similarly enjoyable.

Then today, to top it off, we trotted off to Diggerland.

This is a place I have been aware of, but all their sites have been a frustrating distance from our home.

Then this one sprouted up near our friends in T’North.

And so it was on the agenda for any future visit we may have the pleasure of making.

I did not enlighten Max much to our plans, because the weather could have put pay to any visit, particularly on this occasion, as our itinerary only allowed for us to visit today.

One shot at making a visit.

And as the sun shined this morning, I knew we were in for a great day.

We had very nearly arrived before it was let slip where we were headed to.

The excitement immediately started and, as it turned out, it was well warranted.

This place is a joy for all kids, and men for that matter, that enjoy playing with the big-boys’ toys.

Digging holes in £38,000 worth of plant is something that I will no longer dream about.

Nor will my son.

And nor will ‘Tractor Dave’.

I can not wait for our next week-start!

Road Safety Is Serious

Ever since we moved to our new home, and started walking to nursery, it has increased my awareness of road safety.

You would think that being out in the sticks, that there is less to worry about, but I believe it is quite the opposite.

Because the roads are quieter, and the traffic generally lighter, people can tend to be lax about road safety.

This must be the worst state of mind to be in regarding it.

Their is less traffic here, but many of the roads are unclassified and have the national speed limit applied, or are driven like they do anyway.

In fact, our village, being sandwiched between two such zones, has a lot of vehicles not slowing down driving through it, and therefore breaking our already too-high 40 mph speed limit.

A group of volunteers has actually set up a community speed watch programme, operated in conjunction with the Police, and it means details of speeding motorists will be given to them to act upon.

Their ultimate aim is to get the speed limit reduced to 30 mph, and get the majority of folks to observe it.

The Department of Transport is obviously concerned about road safety too, and in particular how children observe it.

There have been some memorable advertising campaigns, such as The Green Cross Code Man and Tufty The Squirrel.

I was reminded of these when on a recent trip to the Coventry Transport Museum.

Max actually stopped at this point to watch the whole of the looping video montage. He actually only wanted to tell me the actor who played the road safety giant, also was Darth Vader.

But, impressed, very impressed.

Apparently a new campaign is on its way, and I’ve been privy to some of their new material, in return for my feedback.

After some detailed research, one of today’s problems is the fact that children do not give road safety enough gravitas, and therefore do not take it seriously.

That added with the different media types accessed by people today, a new way of getting the message across is deemed necessary.

The outcome is a new advertising campaign that will hit kids television very soon.

‘Tales of the Road’ will feature 3 dimensional animated children affected by road accidents, and will hopefully get the message across to the digital generation.




It makes for pretty grim viewing, and it is obvious – from this advert – that the DfT wants to connect children with the message that;

ROAD SAFETY IS SERIOUS

I am personally unsure that this is the best way to engage children to get them to prioritise their safety.

My character, Luke Bothways, would be much more effective, especially for the younger ones.

But perhaps this is targeting a slightly older age group, children who are more likely to walk to school unsupervised, or supervised on a long leash.

In all cases, I hope it works.

Lazy Bones

This is not a post about my growing beer belly, no, more about the cheek of my very own, little prince charming.

I forget sometimes how funny he can be, and take for granted that all around us are aware of his comic genius.

He has the wonderful ability to raise a smile on all those who come into contact with him, like most kids do, and the laughs usually follow.

I love it when he makes me laugh, which is like, all-the-live-long-day.

It also pleasures me to watch him make others laugh, especially when he does it for the first time, and I can actually see these people ‘getting him’.

And it is also reassuring that it is not just me going mad.

Like when he responded to a neighbour’s question, about if he liked babies or not.

His “Not particularly,” triggered some proper belly-laughing at that toddler group session.

He was not even trying, not like when he does his monkey joke.

His forward thinking nursery are busied with the task of bringing him up to speed, ready for the start of school.

His key stage worker thingy person, has been keeping me informed with these things and, indeed, with explaining what they are.

‘They’ are more practical skills, like wiping one’s backside solo, putting shoes on – the correct feet, and generally being able to dress and undress.

Max has struggled with his fleecy coat, it sticks to his clothes and means it is not easy for him to get it off, and therefore, hang it up.

Because we are often against the clock, or in the way in the corridor, I tend to help him with this. But the nursery sees it as a skill to master, and like the children to do this themselves when they come in from outdoor play.

I am grateful that they have the patience, and they are playing a very good role in this type of development.

As he has struggled with that coat I was today interested to know if he was getting on any better with his winter coat.

His lovely monitor person said he was doing great, and asked my glorious son to confirm his improvement.

“You take your own coat off now don’t you Max?”

And in that very well congested corridor, he responded with;

“Not if Daddy is around.”

I laughed, and very nearly launched him at the very same time.

Smile

He won't take 'no' for an answer

Boys Will Be Boys

I have been reading quite a bit around the World Wide Web about raising boys, and the difference there is versus raising girlies.

My mind was jogged at the start of the year, when Max’s nursery leader was away on a course titled ‘Encouraging Creativity In Boys’ or similar.

She got me intrigued.

As did this class. The travel is a killer though.

Apparently the great minds in charge of the educational protocol for our children, are having a renewed look at why boys tend to lag behind the girls until the business end of their schooling.

We certainly are not the only ones, by all accounts, but the achievement level disparity between the sexes is causing some concern, and hopefully will generate some positive action.

I’m sure there is a huge amount of science, or probably more specifically neuroscience, but the outline of this course did not exactly leave me astounded.

Boys have a shorter attention span than girls, and have less interest in traditional academic learning.

Not exactly mind blowing is it?

But at least it is being recognised officially.

Different teaching approaches for the two groups are now being positively encouraged, where the overall impact of the education technique being given priority over shorter-term and more specific measures.

All sounds, or reads, great, but I await this in practice.

The nursery chief is now very keen to demonstrate to the neighbouring school, that boys can learn and thrive, via methods that may look, to the un-trained eye, as simply playing.

In its extreme she said that even the normally controversial playing with toy guns can be a positive. It can help teach right from wrong and the consequences from this type of action.

Doctors and nurses anyone?

This can be taken further and as a tool it can improve a child’s dexterity by assembling, dissembling, loading and unloading.

Drawing can be bought into it too, creating parts lists or writing down the order that things need to be done. Can all act as encouragment for learning other skills.

Personally I have not formulated a huge opinion on that, but I am warmed by this refreshing way of thinking.

There will be a huge change for my son when he makes the switch from nursery to school next September, and I am delighted that we have befriended some families whose children went through it last year. We have learnt a great deal from them.

I just want him to enjoy it.

A happy child is what it is all about for me, and what they achieve or fail to understand, is a huge second to that.

Regardless of dangly bits.

Time Is (Better Than) Money

I found renewed fun in having a recent week of days out with my son.

Since he started nursery last September, and the hours he has spent there have increased, our jollies together have naturally dwindled.

We still get them of course, but it used to be five days a week, every week, rather than the nominal two in the current rota.

Venue or activity was always critical in my five day planning, to ensure that we both enjoyed our trips out and about.

I also think that younger children, two and under, enjoy the company of other children, but they do not necessarily play together well, or for any great length of time.

Now, as a virtual four-year-old, I find it is people rather than place that can make for a great day.

Having kids here, or going to others’ homes is as much an event as trekking half way across the county sometimes.

Our last trip out of the school holidays was a great example of this.

We were out with a couple of families from the village, and our original intention was to visit a local children’s theme park.

With the inconsistent weather this was subject to change at the last minute, and indeed through the days leading up to our outing the venue changed a few times.

Therefore none of us had really paid much attention to the prices at this place, and we had also neglected that we would be visiting on the 31st of October, Halloween, or another reason to heighten prices based on that not-so-helpful supply and demand curve.

Everything was going to plan, we were all present and correct at the agreed time and rendezvous point.

And we set off on foot to this place of anticipated magical experience.

When we arrived at the pay-booth, we were greeted by a rather unpleasant witch and the rather more unpleasant prices.

It was going to cost us £7 each for the children, and £6 for ourselves, just for entry. Then there would have been hot food, as the weather really dictated we would need a good warm by lunch time, plus whatever else our offspring charmed us into.

Without anyone one of us wishing to appear tight, we quickly agreed that we should return to the park we had trekked from, and take the day, more cost-effectively, from there.

Being on a similar wavelength to the other two parents really pleased me, but I was not lucking forward to the anticipated backlash from the disappointed little ones.

I should not have worried.

I chose to offer little explanation as to why we were not going in, I did not feel that Max would, or should, understand an economic argument just yet.

Instead I told him we needed to go and find a better looking witch back in the park, and all his friends were going to help.

There was no fuss, and the other children were brilliant and accepted whatever their respective parent had told them.

They were just happy to enjoy each others’ company.

We trotted back to the park, which has a series of playgrounds for all ages, so there was plenty for each of them to do, and it kept us busy too.

A warm lunch was bought within the local shopping centre, the children were all good again and enjoyed their dishes.

And as Max and another child needed new shoes, even that could be done.

To boot (sincere pun apologies) it was a more pleasurable experience, and was unexpectedly chalked off the to-do list.

Another part of the park kept us all entertained in the afternoon, and at the end of the day all the kids had clearly had a great time. And the parents similar.

Plus we were a little smug that we had spent less money doing it.

One Or None

It is funny that after, what now seems a relatively short career, of decision making, policy construction and protocol formation, that I still do that sort-of thing, albeit in a very different environment and not as formally.


I have not created a hand book in my current field, not just yet anyway.


There was the nothing-of-poor-nutritional-value-allowed policy; that grew into the OK- in-moderation-and-if-the-teeth-brushing-schedule-is-followed-extensively.

My nature, or the way my mind works has help with this, and with parenting I believe.

Things are much easier to operate if you and everyone else know the boundaries and the exceptions, or for the purpose of clarity should they be called exclusions?

Rules are OK as long as they are not ridiculously adhered to, or are cumbersome.

And well formed and operated protocol leads to effective and well structure routines.

Kids love and thrive on that, well some do.

I am no robot; I try to do everything with a smile on my face, and base most of our lives around humour.

And I’m not a terrible stickler when Max is in the care of others. I insist on very few things being carried out the same as they are here.

Telling people what to do, on another level is really saying I do not trust you or your judgement in particular.

Trust, confidence and honesty are not inversely proportional. Not be in my un-written manual anyway.

I have not read a great deal of parenting books, just picking up one or two that I thought might have bereavement help in.

Amongst my limited reading was the affirmation that the actions of secondary carers will not affect ‘the rules’ a parent may create or actually operate, and nor should they be blamed for things you do not like in your child’s behaviour.

I like to think this is true.

But I do find it funny when Max exploits the differences between people, and highlights them comically.

He is terrible spoiled with both time and reward. He has more toys than Hamleys

When I choose to get my son a gift, I have long had a one-or-none procedure.

Junior picks up everything in the store, to which I consistently re-iterate “Which ONE do you want?”

This often gets a moan or a “I want them both Daddy.”

Then my one-or-none policy is re-affirmed.

Recently, when on a trip out with grandparents, they visited a shop, that had a BOGOF offer on some of the little man’s favourite figures.

So he was delighted to learn that he HAD to choose two items.

There was also some confusion.

“Two?” he asked.

“Daddy wouldn’t like it here, he says it’s one or none.”

How he understands, he will score well in his appraisal.

How Long Is Your Leash?

One of the things I am always pestering other parents about is how much they control their children, or allow them to control themselves.

Like walking to school, at what age do you let them walk without holding your hand, being right by you side, or then just stopping for you to help them across the road?

When do they have a knife and fork, rather than a bucket and spade?

I am mindful that there are probably no right and wrong answers, and that all our children will have differing time-lines, based on numerous things.

But to have an idea and some guidance is always useful.

They help you cope with situations like this.

And the not-to-dos are much more important than the too-dos.

Towards the end of our joyous half-term activities – and I type that without sarcasm – we were out with a couple of families from our village.

In total there were five children, one baby, two mothers and me.

As the weather was fair, we took off for an outdoor activity. We have some great parks around here and when children have others to play with then a location is all you really need.

The place we landed at has several playgrounds that are supposed to be age specific. But when you have kids ranging from nearly four to virtually eight they like to play on the same one.

So as the responsible ones we sheparded them round as a group to each of these different areas, so a good time could be had by all.

Generally finding somewhere to sit and watch them all from, or in the case that the equipment was too tough for the little ones, stand near to give them the hand they needed.

It was interesting for me to see that the other parents kept as much a beady eye on their older children as they did of those a similar age to mine.

We were not being neurotic, in my opinion anyway, but regularly amongst our gossip informed discussions we were doing a little head count, every few minutes or so in fact.

It was definitely a three person job, as kids love forming splinter groups don’t they?

There was unanimous opinion that it is much easy in greater number, and that counts for both children and parents.

The collective also agreed that bright coats or even luminous jackets would be appropriate for the rest of the winter and the dark nights.

Then we can exchange our leads for sunglasses.

Blimey, I'm Single

Well my web pseudonym sort-of implies that, but I hope you will get my point.

I was at a wedding this weekend, an absolutely glorious affair as it happens, set in a beautiful part of Worc-es-ter-shire.

The two very beautiful people who were getting spliced sent me a surprise invite as early as last year.

I know them reasonably well, but they were really friends of Samantha.

Never the less, I was delighted to get an invite, and even further enlightened to know there would be more familiar names on the guest list, and that guest list also included an invited for my sister, and roomy for the night.

It was a venue wedding, as I like to call them. The ceremony, wedding breakfast and evening functions were all held at the same picturesque hotel.

Which was also a surprise as, the bride particularly, is quirky and very creative.

However I was most impressed with the groom’s choice of outfit. A country gent’s suit, and now I want one, and a shot-gun to complete the look obviously.

Their traditional backdrop and itinerary was dappled with subtle changes, slightly out of the ordinary, which kept us on our toes.

The photographer was very inventive, and, as-it-happens, very pretty, it must be a pre-requisite, just look at these beautiful folks.

Amongst the other twists, were the speeches.

They are usually delivered after the wedding breakfast, for those who may not know, instead on this occasion, they were made between courses, and not all by the usual suspects.

This did startle me a little, and my bladder was less than impressed.

I was also a little taken aback to discover all this while I was seated at the unofficial singles’ table.

The - what do you do – question was the least of my worries, when one of the first I fielded from this ensemble was, how long have you been single?

Speech and less are not often words associated with myself, unless of course, they are used in a ‘his actions left me’ sort of way.

Not really wanting to answer the question, luckily the by-product, my hesitation, ironically directed the attention vehicle to veer elsewhere.

I sat there a bit stunned really.

Weddings and social functions have been really tricky as a widower, but generally I’ve been treated as just that, which might have made it worse, I’m unsure.

Being amongst couples, and friends, that my wife and I used to ‘date’ felt normal and abnormal at the same time.

Everyone generally knew my story, so there were no conversation stoppers, well never on Sam’s count anyway.

This time due to numbers and the brides desire to mix the guests up, in an effort to maximise the mingling, I found myself at the aforementioned round-table of the unattached.

A strange feeling, and an incite to the future I suppose.

It did not last very long and I really enjoyed the table’s company.

Not least because I was sat opposite my beautiful sister and life is always entertaining when she is around.

The others were great company too, with perhaps one exception, but even he provided entertainment for the rest of us, even if he did it unwittingly.

But this was definitely a distinctly different dose of the: you-ARE-single-now, life lesson.

Run For The Hills

I thought we had a great day yesterday, like we have done all this week.

Yet my company was such that the young man in my life decided to temporarily abscond.

Perhaps inspired by his surroundings, he took off just like the ThrustSSC we had just seen.

I did not chase after him; I thought a simple and sharp ‘MAX!’ would suffice, I should do less thinking, if it possible.

He usually responds well to his heel commands, but perhaps I should see if this guy does toddlers too.

Friends who have picked Max up from nursery have even commented how he stays close to you, and does not go haring off like a lot of the children do.

Which is why I thought he would be waiting outside the hangar when we got out of it.

But he was not.

The transport museum is a modern labyrinth, not a gigantic place, but it is split into many different sections, which in turn, means there are plenty to get lost in.

I did not panic, as my next immediate thought was he would have headed back to the SSX simulator we had just been refused passage on – apparently simulating 700mph is not good for those under 120cm.

He was not there either. See, this thinking lark gets me nowhere.

Again, I did not panic.

Panic leads to irrational thinking and inefficiency, do not do it, ever, if you can manage it.

I sent my friends back the way we had walked, and I went on through the museum.

Up some steps into the model world, and I could see him eagle-eyeing the toy car collection.

After a few purposeful strides I was by his side, and taking his hand.

We moved rather swiftly to a quiet corner amongst a rather wonderful collection of miniature vehicles.

I asked why he had took-off, and why he had not responded to my call, and then re-iterated, without trying to scare him too much, how important it was to listen and stay close when we are out and about.

He got a bit upset, which rather wickedly, I was pleased with, I think it means he understood.

During our Q & A and short lecture, it was clear my little wonder was just excited to get to the next bit of the museum, and thought I would be right behind him.

He must have got my thinking gene.

His memory is very sharp, and he had been at the museum before, but with his grandparents and not me, so not that sharp.

It was a lesson learnt for both of us, and I’m grateful that is all it ended up being.