Walking in the Air and prepations for a big busk....

So if you are about Framlingham on Wednesday 16th December and you hear what you think just maybe sounds like a recorder version of "Walking in the Air" squeaking and souring its way to your ear - it probably is..."Walking in the Air" that is and yes it is also a recorder.
We are now officially starting to raise money for Young Epilepsy and the Bog Boy and the Big One are being forced to practice happily practising any piece they know that is remotely Christmassy for our first foray into the cut throat world of charity fund raising at Christmas.
We were hoping to get the Saturday market but a brass band beat us to it - well actually they are there every year and they are amazing - and to be honest the Framlingham Market would probably prefer us not to be about on a day so near to Christmas less we send potential shoppers fleeing to the relative safety of Saxmundham.
Or at least they think it safe - I have plans to stake out Waitrose in the Spring and someone has told me that Tesco can get quite a good crowd. Personally I reckon Lidl would be the best as everyone is always so happy when they come out of there either because they have actually managed to come out of there in one piece - did you see the mad rush to get the smoked almonds at the Thirsk branch last year? Made Black Friday look like a picnic in the park - or else those who do come out are so blooming pleased with themselves for getting such a bargain that they are incredibly generous.
Anyway back to the task at hand; preparations for the the Big Busk.
"Walking in the Air" is one, or used to be one, of my favourite Christmas tunes but following the rendition I heard today I may have to review that. The first bit is OK and if you hang in there and ride the pregnant pauses and close your ears to the inevitable note stumble, it's not that bad. You can recognise it - sort of. I'm hoping that with nigh on a month to go Bog Boy will clinch it. (I have bought my ear defenders and I will be overseeing practice both night and day #thethingswedo)
As for the Big One, he's channelling his inner Sally Army vibe and going large on his trombone with "Bring me Joy" following that up with a rather nifty Jingle Bells 'avec glissade' as long as I remember to buy the trombone oil and cleaning kit.
Which of course I forgot to do today...
So fair warning folks Framlingham Market, Wednesday 16th December - bring your ear defenders...I said BRING YOUR EAR.. oh never mind!

Meanwhile enjoy Walking In The Air as sung by Peter Auty from The Snowman. The wonderful animation was first shown on Channel Four in 1982. It is based on the comic book by Raymond Biggs which I had one Christmas in 1978. Much better though was Fungus the Bogey Man and very scarily When the Wind Blows which for anyone who lived through the 70s and 80s brings back the very real fear we had of a Nuclear War - ah such lovely thoughts and memories close to Christmas...

Bringing up Boys - The Art of Being Ill

Bog Boy
Being very ill indeed

The art of being ill is hard one.

• You must not be SO ill that you cannot take advantage of it nor must you be to not ill enough that you have to go into school anyway.
• You will need to be just sick enough to get at least two days off as one day off is no good as your Mum will think you are just trying get out of a spelling test or a maths exam or basically something you don't want to do particularly; like English.
• Throwing up is a good one as you have to be off school for at least 24 hours for that but you must get the timings right, if you throw up at night you'll only get the one day off but if you throw up in the way to school you might be able to squeeze two days off as technically you will have to clear the morning of the day after tomorrow as well before you can go back.
• A good dose of chicken pox can be great - only as long as you get it mildly - but make sure your Mum has had it first as she's no good at pandering to your every whim if she's laid up as well. 
• Remember Calpol is your friend - reduces feverishness and that really spaced out feeling fast and allows you to play Minecraft uninterrupted all day but still won't really knock a nail on the head of a persistent virus so that when Mum takes your temperature the next morning it's raised too high for you to go back to school just yet...
• Don't forget to get picky with your food (preferably don't eat at all to begin with) refuse all our favourites with a sigh and say things like: "I'm just not  hungry Mum' "I can't Mum it hurts when I swallow." And allow her a small moment of triumph when she tempts you to eat with a Belgian Chocolate Choux bun*
• Get practising with your cough a good flemmy coughing noise will keep her just off balance enough to give you the benefit of the doubt - possibly allowing you an extra convalescence day at home.
• A really good  idea is to wake early and trip your way to Mum's room saying you really don't feel very well. She'll be too sleepy to argue the point and  more than likely allow you in for a cuddle. If you are too old for a cuddle in bed with Mum you can always sit on her bed and shiver. She will be so concerned that she'll jump out of bed, insist that you get in and keep warm while she gets up to fetch you a lovely cup of tea.
• Waking up in the middle of the night to say you've thrown up, feel really ill or have a headache is  another good way to make the point however, don't do this too much or you will rapidly lose her sympathy as she gets more and more tired and you'll not be able to get that extra day of convalescence.
• Keep buttering her up with the want smile or the demands for a cuddle and always say thank you for everything she does and technically you could get a whole week off - and that might mean you manage to miss a spelling test, maths exam and the dreaded English
• WARNING: Don't milk it too much or else Mum won't be as amenable to letting you stay home the next time. 

I have been ill enough to be off school for three days and have missed my spelling test, piano lesson and double English

Have a happy illness

Bog Boy 

(Aged nearly nine)

*Top Tip: Show a great deal of reluctance to eat this or indeed any treat as you are sure to get  another to tempt your appetite back

Bad Mother Moments #4 - A case of not believing when your youngest says he’s feeling sick while looking at a plate of salad…

This is What I Think of Greens!

It is a truth universally acknowleged, that a small boy in possession of a dish of greens, must be in want of a way to get rid of it. And if that way is to throw–up then throw-up one must.

Problem is this does not endear you to your parents - in particular your Mum, who lives in fear that you will never grow because you don’t always eat your one a day let alone your five.

Thus was I faced with a rebellious small boy on Sunday evening flatly refusing to eat his salad.

“It makes me sick!”

“Horrocks! Greens never made anyone sick!”

“They will you know! They’ll make ME sick!”

Shades of Violet Elizabeth  Bott, I thought murderously. We have been battling for months with Bog Boy to get him to eat fruit and veg, especially the green stuff, and after a long half term, and an equally long Sunday, this latest mutiny was one too far and I flipped:

“If you throw up I will make you eat it all back up!”

I didn’t think he was going to be sick, honestly I didn’t! I just wanted him to stop being a pain in the neck and just get on and eat his supper including his greens. I was tired and I wanted both my boys in bed so I could finally relax safe in the knowledge that tomorrow it would be someone else’s problem.

I gave him a gimlet-eyed stare and stomped off in to the TV room before I said anything further. Sometimes it is safest to leave them to it.

There was very little sound from the kitchen and all seemed to be going well but then there was the most almighty wail. The kind of wail that has any parent up in a flash. The wail when you know your child is not mucking about and that this is an emergency.

The sight before my eyes was not pretty but it was the terrible moans escaping from Bog Boy that wracked me most:

“Oh NOooooooo” he sobbed almost incoherently, “I’m going to have to eat it all up!”

Of course I didn’t make him do anything of the sort but I was still angry. Little toad had drunk so much water he’s effectively made himself sick.

Fast forward to Monday and off they trundled to school with Bog Boy still behaving  in a ridiculous manner saying he was going to be sick if he ate breakfast.

He was still complaining at suppertime but everything had gone well at school so he had to be alright surely.

Supper was lovely Spaghetti Bolognese with a rich homemade tomato sauce. I promise he did not eat that much but at 10 o clock just as I was going to let the dogs out and trundle off to bed I heard a creaking on the stairs and was met by a wan little face with the most enormous eyes.

“I really have been sick this time Mummy and I didn’t make myself!”

Oh boy had he been sick several times along the corridor, the bathroom and oh dear god all over his bed the floor and everywhere – even bless him on his teddies Jelly and Puppy! There was not a hope in heck that he had made himself do this!

I felt SO very guilty! My poor little mite had been telling me he wasn’t well and I bad mother had totally ignored him!!!

PS. My Poor little mite is not going into school until Thursday and in the meantime he is sitting next to me playing on my ipad. The best cure for being sick he says….

Bringing up boys: When age starts to count...(the quest to have his own puppy continues)

The Puppy In Question...

God I am so undecided!

Has he really done enough to earn one? Is he really mature enough to cope?

Half of me says: “Let him rise to the challenge even if you are unsure!” The other half says: “No Way! This is going to be a total disaster!

While I may be unsure, I do know that he has tried his very best. He has been helpful. He has cleared up when I asked without a murmur and under very trying circumstances, for while he is busy being good and doing all and sundry, his younger brother is allowed to get away with doing very little and that irks.

It irks, badly.

“It’s Not Fair!” is the refrain.

And I have to keep reminding him what he is doing it all for. Sometimes I think he wishes he wasn’t trying to earn a puppy. Sometimes

I think he just wants to forget it all and be allowed to go back to being able to just hang out.

It has been particularly hard now that they are back at school. For my eldest has homework that takes over and hour to do each evening while the younger boy just has to do a bit of reading and a few spelling – all of 10 minutes. I hate to inform my eldest but that is not going to change for quite some time.

I think he forgets that he IS three years’ older than his brother and now the difference in age seems enormous as my eldest really starts to grow-up.

It’s a combination of finally coming off his epilepsy drugs and just being 10 years’ old. Suddenly he can think clearly, concentrate, see and hear without anything getting in his way, he is more co-ordinated, able to take on instructions without us having to hover over him to make sure he gets it right. He’s more trustworthy – most of the time.

I’d like to say my youngest is taking everything in his stride too – but life isn’t that tidy.

Bog Boy is at his brother night and day making life difficult and I do know why. Suddenly he’s not the one who gets everything right, suddenly he’s not the one making great leaps and bounds in learning and sport and most anything you can imagine. He’s not the top dog he thought he was and he’s just a tad envious too of all the attention his brother is garnering.

It makes for an exciting household, car journeys, meal times, bedtimes, bath times….and it is so very difficult to be mature and ignore your pesky younger brother – and doesn’t your younger brother know it!

And that is where the rub is – can I say my eldest is mature enough to have a puppy when he gets so wound up by his younger brother that he thumps him? Screeches at him? Wails that life is unfair? Albeit with extreme provocation?

The coin is being tossed….

All my lost ones...

Bog Boy

There’s a bit in the movie Marley & Me where they go to the doctors because they have ‘not’ been trying to have a baby and Jen is nearly 10 weeks pregnant. They’re having an ultrasound and he’s goofing about wanting to know the sex of the baby and he says: “I don’t mind what sex the baby is, as long as he’s OK”

The sonographer says that the heartbeat will sound a little fast but that’s normal and then, then it's not so funny for you don't hear the thrum of the heartbeat, there’s no sound at all and she gets up to go out and the main doctor man comes in and you just know it’s going to be bad.

I know that feeling.

It happened to me.

And so now seeing it all, and knowing what the character is going through, I start to cry.

I hear my little boy pipe up from the sofa where he’s engrossed watching to say: “They don’t get a baby this time but she goes on to have three Mum!”

And still the tears drip down my face.

I remember every one of mine, the ones I didn’t have but it’s OK I had two, two glorious boys but every now and then I wonder about my lost babies.

It got to the stage when I didn’t go to the hospital when I miscarried. I just carried on. The hospital couldn’t do anything about it and I hated it there. I hated the atmosphere, the sterile empathy, the fact that I had failed and there would be no baby. I used to glower at all expectant mums-to-be, I was so angry I wanted to know why me? Why not someone else. I am sure some of the women who saw me metaphorically crossed themselves to ward off the evil eye. But I wouldn't have wished it on them really, not really. But I was so jealous.

I had seven miscarriages in total. Three before The Boy and four before Bog Boy.

In fact after the last miscarriage I said that was it, no more. And then of course I got pregnant and do you know what? I didn’t want to be pregnant. I hated it.

I railed to my friend, who so desperately wanted another that I couldn’t stand to go through it all again. I was scared I’d lose it and I was angry that I had got myself into a situation where I could be hurt.

It was a hideous pregnancy, I was as sick as a dog for the first couple of months then I got pneumonia then they thought it was likely to have Downs Syndrome. Do you know they wanted me to have an amniocentesis - with my history of miscarriage??!!!

It was simply awful and the pressure I felt under to make me have the tests which could lead me to miscarry was enormous. It was if they felt that it was better to suffer the collateral damage of losing a healthy child than to bring a potentially disabled one into the world.

Luckily we stood firm and when they allowed us to have a scan with their new 'soopah doopah' all singing and all dancing scanning machine they could see that all was fine and ‘normal’.

For us that was not the point, we'd talked it over, we didn’t mind, we were just happy finally to be having another child.

And what a child he is…

Bringing up boys – pulling the other one

Innocent  - My Eye!

His door is shut.

Not a normal occurrence.

Should I be suspicious.

You Bet!

He may have big blue eyes and golden hair as well as the face of an angel but he is NOT to be trusted at all. I’ve known him nigh on six and a half years and ever since the beginning I’ve known he’s going to be a one.

I stand outside his door staring at it as if I can see through wood.

Me softly: You awake?

Him: No!

Me: You playing with your DS?

Him: No!

Me: You going to go to sleep now?

Him all innocently: Yes Mummy.

When he calls me Mummy and uses that voice I know he’s up to something so I open the door and walk in.

He’s lying in the dark in his bed ready to go to sleep.

Me: What are you doing?

Him: Nothing.

It’s the way he says it. I am even more on my guard.

Me: You sure? You wouldn’t be lying would you? You wouldn’t be lying about your DS would you?

Him, indignantly: MUM! My DS is outside on the bookshelf where you put it

I lean back and peer round the door towards the bookcase. Yes his DS is exactly where I put it. But something is still not right.

Him: I’m tired Mummy. I want to go to sleep.

Me resignedly: OK Darling

I make to leave but I’m not sure. Something is niggling at the back of my mind. I look about in the gloom and then I just take a random guess.

Me: Hand it over.

Him even more indignantly: What?!

Me: Whatever it is you’ve got under your pillow.

Give him his due he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t pretend that nothing is there.

Him, as he draws out his brothers DS: I didn’t lie to you Mum…..

Bringing Up Boys - Being put in your place..

I have been well and truly put in my place.
I thought Bog Boy liked having a bath with me and mucking about in the water, but this morning I was told that he'd prefer it if he had a bath on his own.
I was taken aback.
I hadn't asked him to have a bath with me last night, he had decided to join me and I had acquiesced. We often have baths and showers en famile; I thought no worries.
Obviously, I was wrong.
"OK," I said.
"You're not upset are you?" He asked, looking at me worriedly.
"No not at all," I lied trying to keep my voice light and happy.
He heard the edge in it.
"Look Mum, " he said with all the earnestness that a six year old can muster as he cocked his head on one side. "It's not personal, just I think its wrong to bath with a girl."
I briefly fast forwarded a few years and thought you'll be changing your tune in a decade or so my  little man..
He carried on in a very grown up way. "Boys should be with boys that's all."
And he proceeded to spoon the jam onto his toast.
"So you're quite happy to have a shower with Daddy then?" Said I, rubbing salt into my own wounds. My little boy was growing up before my eyes and I was being left out as the only girl in the family.
"Oh yes!" he answered blithely.
"Little toad!" I thought slitting my eyes and biting firmly into my own toast only to land up catching the edge of my tongue between my teeth and making my eyes water.
"You're not crying Mum are you?!" He squawked in alarm.
"No Darling! Really I'm not!"
"You mustn't worry you know! You still make the bestest Mum in the world..."
"You're ONLY mum!" I answered as I always do when either of the boys says that.
He carried on quickly, "And you make the bestest jam too!"
Good to know I am still appreciated...

Bringing up Boys: Failure to launch…

Contemplating anything other than homework

We’re in Year Two, the time where the learning through play years metamorphoses into serious learning.

Problem is how to get your independent free spirited boys to toe the line especially when it comes to homework. -the mere mention of which has me twitching and looking round desperately for an alcoholic prop.

We start of slowly enough with spellings. Things such as PLAY, DAY STAY, FRAY at the seams…no problem easy peasy that is until we have to write a sentence using the words.

Bog Boy says nah he doesn’t need to.

I leave it like that to see if he will change his mind once he gets his homework back from his teacher.

So I trundle into school for pick up expecting a very downcast little boy but he blithely tells me when I ask how his spelling test went that he didn’t get a sticker.

“Oh!” says I. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t do them sentences.”

“Will you do the sentences this week then?”

“No.” He says, “I won’t!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like stickers…”

We’re going to have an interesting year ahead…