Weekend Fun

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Wobbles

Bike and scooter
In the boot
Me and the boy
Off for a scoot
He’s a bit wobbly
But getting the hang
Of his shiny red bike
Until he has a prang
The distraction of pals
Takes its toll
Adverse camber
Yields a painful fall
It means a sore elbow
For my little friend
Tears and a hug
Pull him together again
He gets back on
Then pedals slowly
An ice cream pit stop
And he’s weaving home boldly.

Snap, Crackle & Pop

Scarcely awake
And a request to bake
Inspiration strikes
Rice Krispy cakes
Sweet and simple
Lots of sprinkles
Helpful daughter
A satisfied customer.

Luke Skywalker

I read a survey in the week which said 70% of grandparents think their children are too soft in disciplining their kids. I spoke to a grandmother at work about it and she laughed but agreed. She said her grandson behaves (marginally) better with her, but is a real tearaway with his parents.

Too much choice and negotiation these days we agreed. But she coughed one clue to her tricks of the trade: ‘It’s a grandparent’s right to treat their grandkids”… Hmmm where have I heard that before?

The ‘force’ is strong with my son at the moment. Smiling and ignoring instructions has given way to running off laughing and disagreeing with everything. Cheeky monkey.

In the literature this looks like early onset ‘oppositional behaviour’. For which, the prescription is unconditional love and non-negotiable boundaries enforced reasonably – not cajoled with treats. No problem with the unconditional love, but treats have become a bad habit through these long summer holidays. Still he’s starting school next week. That’ll knock him into shape.

All the attention this week has been on his sister starting her new school. That has been an aggravator. Picking her up, with him, he decided to act up. First, running in circles round the climbing frame evading me. Then running around his sister’s rather stern new headmistress. All this, needless to say, against my very explicit instructions.

Back in the car, with controlled fury, I found myself quoting the daddy of daddies – Darth Vader. I gave him a right old talking to. In response to his red-faced “I’m not your friend anymore”, I boomed “I am your father.” Reminding him my job is to set the rules and bring him up properly, I closed with every parent’s classic “You don’t know it now, but one day you’ll thank me for this.”

With both my kids at around this age, I’ve been reminded of the scene in the first Star Wars trilogy when Luke attempts to lift an X-wing fighter from a swamp using only the power of the force. His tutor Yoda looks on quietly amazed.

So it is with pre-school children in my experience. They are intrigued by clumsily smacking large slabs of behaviour into their parents – just to see what happens. Like Luke with the X-wing they dimly understand how, but they move their parents about and get a reaction.

As my mum, and his grandmother, said to me once “Our job is not to be your friend, it’s to be your parents”. Wise words. My son is bright as a button, but he is not a Jedi yet. ‘Teach him I will’ as Yoda would say.

Sinister

20110515-080333.jpgI’ve always been more dextra than sinistre. Right-handed, very right-footed and very left-brained. But I worry for my son. With no left foot he’ll never make the England football team. Plus he’d stand a better chance of becoming a test batsman or bowler if he was a ‘cack hander’.

So a few weeks back I resolved to only dribble and kick footballs left-footedly to set him an example. I’ve also started brushing my teeth with my left hand. I’m slowly becoming quite accomplished.

Still, I was roundly beaten in a trial of strength at left handed handwriting by my daughter. She very much has the upper left hand.

When I told a friend about left-handed tooth-brushing, he smiled. Transpires he’s a left-hander. But he owned up to standing on one leg while brushing his teeth – very good for balance. Ronald Reagan famously said he always put his socks on balancing on one foot to keep him young.

This morning I brushed left-handed, balanced left-footed and burst out laughing as I did my teeth. A perfect example of the joy of ‘flow’ – being immersed in an engaging challenge, however small. Certainly nothing sinister about that.