School Uniform: The Holy Grail

Smashing parenting today!

This comes with an exclamation mark as it is not a claim I am often able to make. Did I say 'often'? I meant 'ever'. But today is the day.

Let me explain. We are in the final days of the summer holidays and so comes the inevitable uniform buying, gathering, labelling nightmare.

Gertie is going to secondary school which means that she is starting from scratch. Blazer, two polo shirts and the skirt come to eighty quid, and we haven't got as far as shoes or PE kit yet, so this time of year is laden with expense as well as stress. 

The boys won't stop growing, and although Eddie, being number three, essentially lives in hand-me-downs, there is still an awful lot of 'naming' to be done on uniform. This has always filled me with horror. I am not a lover of sewing. The iron-in labels are fiddly and horrible. A biro doesn't quite cut it in the leafy lanes of rural West Sussex. It takes hours and I hate it. Usually. 

But finally, after eleven years of parenting I have made an investment and found the answer. The philosopher's stone, the Holy Grail. It is transformative. Totally life-changing.

This is so not a sponsored post as I am simply not important enough to do that, so I shall refrain from naming the company involved. It wasn't cheap because I had to buy three of them. But I can now stamp their names on to their uniform, This makes it fun. 

Even Gilby's socks have received the treatment. Yes, his socks! Look:

I know. Go me, go me, go me.

Best £44 I have ever spent!

Currently reading:

This is going to hurt by Adam Kay

Girlfriends and Gambling

Eddie had a night out with his 'girlfriend' last weekend.

Yes, Eddie is six.

It gets worse: They went (with her family) to Goodwood and enjoyed an evening of racing. Ahem.  So, he's starting young with the women and gambling. I entrusted five pounds to the care of  Isla's parents so that they could place some bets.

Eddie, of course, won on the first race. £7. So ten minutes in and he has more than doubled his money. Uh oh. He loses on every other race of the night, but is still 'up' at the end. He comes home lofting a precious five pound note high in the air.

"Look at the money I won!" he says.

"And where's the five pounds that Mum gave you to start with?"

"Isla's parents have that. You'll have to ask them. This bit's mine. I won it."

Right.

He had two very late nights in a row. (Well, it's still the summer holidays...) because the following evening he was at a family party. He came home shattered, and, relenting for once, I cuddled him up the stairs to bed. 

"You said I was too heavy to carry up the stairs any more..." he observed, sleepily, cheek pressed into my shoulder.

"Well, just this once, as you are so exhausted," I soothed.

"Yes, I'm much lighter when I'm tired, aren't I?"

Can't fault this boy's logic.




Currently reading: Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh

The Last Lap

Eddie sat on my lap this morning, unprompted, to read a book and do a puzzle. He just tapped my legs for me to  uncross them and climbed up. It was a nice feeling and it suddenly occurred to me that it had been the first time he has done that for a while. I breathed in the still-babyish smell at the back of his neck greedily. He probably thinks that his mother is a weirdo.

He turns seven at the end of September, but has always been much littler than his siblings were at the same age, so he still gets carried up to bed sometimes, or picked up towards the end of a long walk. I wasn't physically able to carry Gertie or Gilby at the same age. It has been a long, long time since one of them sat on my lap. So it strikes me that I am on the countdown for lap-sitting. 

I hope that wasn't the last one.

The Inflatables

Eddie is obsessed with The Incredibles, and thinks that he can run as fast as Dash. One of our first activities of the holidays was going to see The Incredibles 2 at the little cinema in Bognor.

Our trip to France has been more like the yet-to-be-made film, The Inflatables. Much of the action takes place poolside. So far there have been several rounds of the newly invented game 'Banana Interceptor' which is essentially a version of Piggy In The Middle with the addition of a giant inflatable banana as an additional tool for the Piggy.

Poor old inflatable turtle lost a limb, and was given a water burial, complete with prayers and incantations. 

And then the game of 'Edge Ball' emerged. This involves players taking it in turns to throw a ball to hit the opposite edge of the swimming pool where, if it catches the edge, it will bounce up into the air so that either player can catch it. Two points scored for catching your own edge ball, one point for catching your opponent's. Skilful and entertaining, the game has kept Gilby occupied for hours with his  father or his uncle. And, the best edgeballers 'don't get wet', apparently. Funny then, that I seemed to be being continually splashed poolside...

So. Much fun being had by all. Hearth-mother busy consuming lashing of rosé.

Currently reading: The Accidental by Ali Smith

Bouncing

I'm putting these two photographs together because they are two separate but connected memories that I felt compelled to revisit and write about again:


I hold your hand.

You aren't sure about this. You don't like the sand clinging to your socks. It bothers your sense of order and rightness. And the mountainous heights of the bouncy pillow are intimidating. But you do want the fun, or the promise of it, and so you are quite determined as you reach for the brightly coloured fabric.

We climb up together. I have to haul you up the steep last part because you can't keep your balance. We don't bounce, as such. I tread carefully until you wobble a little and giggle, and then I run faster; chasing you and bouncing you until you shriek. Another little girl gets on. She is tentative like you but you are now the strong, experienced one and you let her find her feet on the bouncy pillow and then you become her big friendly bouncer and you both laugh and shout and tumble and stumble and pick each other up when you collapse, limbs knotted, flopping in helpless laughter.

The rhythm changes; the game changes. Somehow, you both instinctively know the rules without stating them. Whose turn to run, whose turn to chase, who is leading and who is following. Two perfect strangers enjoying the perfect bounce.

Eventually it must end: the bouncing as though your childhood depended on it.

“Goodbye,” you say, to your new buddy. “It was nice bouncing with you.”

She nods, solemnly. “You too. Bye bouncy friend.”

And you walk in different directions.

I help you put your shoes back on. You don't seem to mind the sand now. I marvel at the ease of a friendship between three-year-olds that only needs a shared passion for buoyancy.

We return regularly. It is a few years later. Now you have have progressed to the giant bouncy pillow and it is energetic and competitive. We still hold hands but only to see who is bouncing highest. You win. You weigh nothing, you walk on air anyway, and l...I am carry too many pounds and worried about my pelvic floor. Click. The mobile phone captures the moment. I frame it. On the wall and in my heart.

‘Nice bouncing with you,’ I say, all the time learning.






Currently reading: Five Rivers Met on a Wooded Plain by Barney Norris

Most Likely To...

Gertie has had her end of term leavers' assembly amidst plenty of tears, shirt-signing and nostalgic stories about the last seven years.

She has gone from this....

To this...

In what seems like the blink of an eye. Tempus has certainly been fugiting.

Meanwhile, Gilby received this end of term of award, much to his delight:

And this one:

No question about how his identity is being constructed!

And now the long summer holiday lies ahead, with all its promise and adventure.

Phase One begins this evening with a trip to the cinema to see The Incredibles. This is Eddie's treat for being 'good' for ten days in a row. And by 'good' I mean putting on his shoes without fuss or argument when told to leave the house and not going into meltdown at bedtime. Sigh. One small step at a time.

Currently reading: Slade House by David Mitchell 

Different Success Criteria

It has been a good weekend in the Hearth-house. Gertie and Gilby have successfully taken part in the final performances of the school play, Bugsy Malone to great critical acclaim. (From Hearth-mother and Hearth-father at least.)

Gertie has enjoyed her Year 6 prom and all the associated pomp and circumstance, including mini manicure, pedicure and 'waterfall plaits' whatever that may mean. We did have conversations like this, though:

Gertie: Mummy, what was your prom dress like when you were in Year 6?

Hearth-mother: Prom dress, darling? Oh no, we didn't have such things. Proms, or nice dresses. My parents were mostly dressing me in tartan and making me match my siblings...

Gilby has this morning received the 'player of the year' award for his football team and is marching around as though he as won the World Cup. The coach credited his hard work, captaincy skills and being a great 'reader of the game'.

And Eddie? 

Well, results for him to. He is still alive, narrowly escaping being throttled at several points through the weekend, and I ended up not phoning the police yesterday when I thought he was missing. Different levels of success...

Currently reading: Why Mummy Swears by Gill Sims