Tag Archives: family

When Graduation Feels Right: Congratulations Class Of 2012

The parenting journey is littered with stages and milestones that mark the passage of time and the getting of wisdom. Some of these milestones also represent significant gateways that irrevocably empower the individual and change the family dynamic. Our little family passed through one such gateway earlier this week, the one called high school graduation.

Two days ago we celebrated the Valedictorian Day of my eldest son, Future Baseball Star. It was a day filled with school tradition, of saying farewell to youth and a clearly defined path and embracing seniority and the responsibility that comes with empowerment for making decisions about the future. A day of hope and laughter, filled with promise and belonging.

The decision of where to send your child to high school is a weighty one. In this town it is usually decided and acted on at birth at which time your child becomes a name on a waiting list. We didn’t go down that road, largely because I wanted to choose a school that would match my child’s needs and personality and to make that call I needed something more to guide me than a bunch of foetal cells. In this town, the choice of high school is a favourite dinner party conversation topic and securing a place in a good high school is a competitive business.

We chose the boys’ high school because it felt right. Not because it was close, not because there was a family connection but because it’s student body comprised boys from all over Sydney and from diverse socio-economic backgrounds and nationalities. It felt right.

The traditions in which we participated on Valedictorian Day felt right.

The farewell song sung by the graduating year 12 class to the rest of the school at the Valedictorian assembly felt right. The engaging farewell speech given by the Head Prefect felt right. The announcement by the year 12 leadership of their year 11 successors and the symbolic handing over of their seats to the newly elected leaders felt right.

The farewell tunnel formed by the student body down which the boys of the graduating class marched to the beat of drums felt right. Watching the year 12 boys making their way through the tunnel whilst they embraced those teachers and mentors that impacted positively on their lives and shook the hands of the boys whose memories they wished to preserve felt right. Seeing little brother playfully punch his big graduating brother in the stomach at the start of the tunnel walk felt right.

Attending the boys’ final school chapel service at which the year 12 Head Prefect passed on a symbolic candle to a year 7 boy felt right. Certain year 12 boys each presenting to the school a symbol representing the areas of academic learning, pastoral care, community giving and co-curricular activities felt right. Hearing the year 12 boys shouting and clapping their way through their final war cry felt right. Sharing a valedictory lunch with our sons and watching them make the passing from “New Boy” to “New Old Boy” felt right.

Being forever part of the “New Boy” community and cheering on the black and white feels right. Being the mother of a high school graduate feels right. Delighting in the fact that I will have 50% less grey socks to fold and white shirts to iron feels right. Watching my child blossom and grow feels right. Handing my child the keys to controlling his destiny feels right. Supporting my son in the lead up to his final exams starting in three short weeks feels right.

Future Baseball Star reaching this milestone has created a new family dynamic. We now have a child with one foot firmly in the adult world and this is cause for celebration. Our stewardship as parents now enters a new phase and it feels right.

Congratulations to all of the boys who are part of the class of 2012, we honour your graduating achievement. It is now time for that last sprint to the final exams and to the destiny that you have worked towards for the past seventeen years, but more particularly during the last thirteen of them. You were the starting class of 2000 and reaching year 12 in 2012 is only fitting and feels right.

Good luck in the exams ahead!

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Do you have any graduating day memories? If you have children who have graduated how did you feel about them passing that milestone? Please share.

7 Blue Ribbon Events of the Parenteen Olympics

Here’s the first post from the she shed. I haven’t actually found a she shed, but if I had, this is the post I would write.

We are almost at the start of the closing ceremony of the 2012 London Olympic Games and what a two weeks it has been. Such skill, stamina and athleticism – and that’s just from the spectators – what time is it again? Australia has now managed to scrape together five six gold medals as our swim team went MIA. Hard lesson learned for said swim team, namely that social media, hubris and swimming don’t mix. Ouch!

The Olympics have however inspired me to look around and recognise skill, stamina and athleticism in my everyday life. So, let’s light the cauldron, release the peace doves, sing “Hey Jude” and celebrate the 7 blue ribbon events of the Parenteen Olympics!

Event 1 – Synchronised Finding: parents compete to find their teen’s missing items whilst tackling various obstacle courses such as teen rooms, drawers and wardrobes, dirty clothes piles and pockets. Five points for each item found. Bonus points are awarded for really small items and those which have not seen the light of day for at least two weeks. Triple bonus points are awarded for essential items that are required to be found in the five minutes before the teen rushes out the door.

Event 2 – Rhythmic Gum Snapping: teens compete to scare the living crap out of their parents by loudly popping gum at random times. Bonus points are awarded for pops  sounding like cars backfiring made at critical times during television shows their parents are watching in the same room.

Event 3 – Pantry/Fridge Hockey: teens compete to rearrange their parent’s pantry/fridge in the usually useless quest to find something to eat and in the hope that by staring at the items long enough they might change into something inspiring. Each of the  panel of five international judges gives a score out of 10 for the following categories:

    • most vacant stare and bored stance
    • most number of trips to the pantry/fridge in a sixty minute time span
    • most number of items moved each trip
    • loudest whine of “there is nothing to eat”

Points are awarded for each item of food actually removed from the fridge or pantry and there is an increased degree of difficulty for foods that have to be heated, peeled or spread.

Event 4 – Laundry Hamper Basketball: teens compete to throw dirty laundry into the hamper much like conventional basketball. There is a three-point line and points are deducted if any item from a flying bundle lands next to the hamper or if the laundry hamper is broken after a particularly forceful slam dunk.

Event 5 – Teenage Habitat Hurdles: parents compete to retrieve selected items  such as used drinking glasses and gum wrappers from their teen’s room battling obstacle courses made of piles clothes, paper and general “stuff”. This is a timed event and the quickest out the door wins. Points are deducted for touching any of the piles, cleaning up or for failing to make it out of the room altogether.

Event 6 – Bathroom Use Marathon: teens compete to spend as much time in the bathroom as possible during peak times with the object of causing maximum inconvenience to other family members. Teens will be judged on the length of their shower (the longer the better), the amount of product applied to their body (shampoo deodorant, gel or makeup or preferably all four for maximum degree of difficulty points) and poses/stances made before the mirror. Scores are awarded out of ten by a panel of judges much like gymnastics.

Event 7 – Electronic Gadget Decathlon: teens compete for the ultimate Parenteen Olympics event in which the winner is the athlete who uses  the highest number of electronic gadgets at the same time. Permitted gadgets include televisions, laptops, I-Pads, smart phones and gaming consoles. Simultaneous use must be sustained for at least one continuous minute. Hernia prevention belts  may be worn.

Let’s celebrate our inner athlete and enjoy our pride of place on the winner’s podium. Medals are awarded on the earlier of the teen turning 21 or moving out of home.

Have you been in training for the Parenteen Olympics? Do you have a favourite event? Are you or do you know a champion of any of the events?

Award ribbon image and image of sporting figures courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net.

Have A Personal Olympic Story? Why Yes, I Do…

More than three decades ago, I graduated from primary school. Not sure what the North American equivalent is called, elementary school or middle school perhaps? Here in Australia, primary school is generally schooling between the ages of 8 and 11. In my State, high school starts at the age of 12.

We have only had one primary school reunion in all those years and to be honest, it was a little bit like entering the twilight zone. Not sure what made me feel like this, perhaps it was the amount of time that had passed since graduation, perhaps it was the intervening high school years and the notion that high school generally brings more memories or meaningful experiences. Whatever it was, it felt somewhat bizarre seeing my primary school mates after more than twenty years and talking about marriage, kids, divorce and careers. Perhaps because there were no blunt ended scissors, glue, coloured pencils in the middle of the table or dangerously low hanging projects strung up by pegs hanging from the ceiling.

As part of the festivities we were asked to fill out a questionnaire. Most of the questions were unremarkable, but there was one that I have carried with me. It is a fairly innocuous question, but I felt confronted by it. Coming away from the reunion, I felt under pressure to have an experience where I could answer the question in the affirmative. The question was:

Have You Ever Attended A World Event?

By that stage, I had given birth twice, had career success, was still married to my first and only, was a dutiful daughter and wife who almost brokered world household peace. Was this not enough? Did I have to attend a world event as well?

Well yes, because it would be memorable and fun and newsworthy and something that no-one could take away. It would also put me in good stead for any future school reunions with tricky questionnaires, not to mention future bridge parties with the girls (for when I get old – ha!).

It was therefore wonderfully fortunate that my city won the right to host the 2000 Olympics. I remember awakening at 3.00am to watch the then president of the IOC, Juan Antiono Samaranch utter the immortal words “and the winner is…. Sydernee”. Really, he said “Sydernee” and the expression has gone down in our city folklore. That announcement made sometime prior to 1995 heralded the start of my own personal Olympic story and journey to a world event.

We watched as Sydney Olympic Park was developed, the main stadium, satellite stadiums built and Olympic infrastructure installed. We heard stories about the supposed crowds and traffic and people renting their house for the Olympic period for exorbitant sums. We were inundated with cheap travel offers to exotic destinations to tempt us out of the city. We watched as they painted the blue line for the marathon runners in the next suburb and we watched the torch relay as it swept through. We saved money, entered ballots and queued to obtain tickets. Leave the city during the Olympics? Not this girl! The world coming to our laid-back doorstep and the prospect of watching Olympic events at a reasonable time, rather than in the middle of the night was an opportunity too good to pass up.

I can honestly say, attending the Sydney 2000 Olympics was one of my finest experiences. We ended up attending the opening ceremony, velodrome cycling events and athletics. But more importantly than the events themselves, for the fortnight of the Olympics our city was enveloped in a blanket of goodwill and cheer. The mood was incredible. Locals wanted to put their best face on to the world and exuded friendliness and tolerance. The city was clean and traffic almost non-existent. Public transport ran on time and business took a holiday. Carefree was in the air and the news was positive. The politicians stopped playing politics and everyone just seemed happy. In a word, utopia. And let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing like hearing your national anthem played on the world stage in your home city.

I can well imagine what London, Londoners and indeed all of England must be feeling right now. Five years is a long anticipatory haul, but the fruits of London’s Olympic labours are about to be laid bare for the world to see. And the world will watch and for the first time will Facebook and Tweet at unprecedented levels.

So yes, I have been to a world event, some would say THE world event. I have my sights set on a World Cup Soccer event, World Series Final (although it is debatable whether this is a true world event), a Rio Mardi Gras and perhaps the Tomatina festival in Spain in the future.

In the meantime, I have set my alarm clock for 5.30am tomorrow morning to watch the opening ceremony. I have reread my herding teenagers post and am armed and ready to wake them so we watch it together to continue a family tradition. Here’s to two weeks of this given our unforgiving timezone!

Would you want to go the Olympics? Have you been? Have you attended a world event? What Olympic moments are you looking forward to?

Call Me Martian, Call Me Venusian, Just Don’t Call Me Shedless

In 1992 relationship counsellor, John Gray PhD, released his bestseller – Men Are from Mars, Women Are From Venus. According to its publisher, Harper Collins, the book is the all time bestseller in the hardcover non fiction category. Apparently it has sold more than 7 million copies.

I am guessing that most female humans of my vintage have read the book. For those of you who are smart younger things or who have been living under a rock, the book attempts to explain the differences in psyche between males and females and how each gender understands the behaviours and mores of its own species, but not that of the other. When the book was released it made quite a splash and his since spawned many sequels, a board game and even nutritional products under the name of Venus Calm and Mars Revive. The choice of these names is interesting… it seems that women are really stressed and men just comatose. That probably works for most households.

But back to the book! I will admit to buying and reading a copy and that my motive for doing was slightly less than pure. My thinking was that the book would surly confirm the superiority and correctness of the Venusian way of thinking whilst providing a humorously entertaining rationale for the inferiority of the Martian thought patterns.  Namely, a snickerworthy book.

Within these pages I fully expected to identify the Italian Stallion’s traits as well as my own and see us emerge. I was not disappointed, emerge we did. By chapter four, I was convinced I was clearly Martian!  By chapter five, I concluded that the Italian Stallion had done a tour of duty on Venus, although I will never publicly admit to thinking he was part Venusian for emasculation is never pretty.  With each turn of the page, my smug Venusian superiority began to ebb. The truth is that of course each individual possess both Martian and Venusian traits.

Chapter three of the book is particularly enlightening. It deals with the concept of the “man cave”, that safe place where Martians retreat to deal with stress. Martians tend to turn inwards to deal and need space and analysis to work through problems. Even if they can’t solve their big problem, they will start by solving any problem. When they are in their cave, men tend to become preoccupied and less responsive. Venusians on the other hand want to talk about and share their problems. They are not necessarily looking for solutions, but the act of sharing itself lightens the burden.

Initially I’m Martian when it comes to problems and then I briefly turn Venusian. I need my cave or what I have now termed my “she shed” as a safe harbour to work stuff out and THEN and only THEN will I bounce my proposed solution or thinking off others. The other is usually a Venusian, but it depends on the nature of the issue. The ultimate solution is usually a meld of the “she shed” product and the post shed Venusian discussion.

The Italian Stallion’s man cave is his workshop. A truly male place where tools snuggle comfortably against each other reveling in the smell of paint and solvent. I have no similar space. I am shedless.

No matter where I lay my hat, some or other of my male folk follow. They are Martians, they are supposed to understand this! It reminds me of when the boys were toddlers, that wonderful stage when they follow you everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE. There is no space where I can just do my own thing and leave clutter, open books, highlighters, sticky notes or whatever and no-one touches them or passes comment. I like my clutter and mess, it’s very comforting and yes folks, there is a system… one only I and perhaps a few like-minded  Venusians understand, but a system nevertheless.

So, I am now searching for my she shed. Some of you no doubt will think that it won’t be long before the kids move out and I will then have too much space and quiet. Well yes… but that doesn’t negate my immediate need. Besides it’s now winter and it’s too cold to ruminate outside for long and who wants to ruminate outdoors at night anyway?

Every good modern search starts on the Internet. How about these sheds for starters?

Fear not dear readers, I will keep you updated on my search for the perfect she shed, a place to inspire my proposed series of blog posts entitled “Tales From the She Shed”. That series where I haven’t yet thought about content. In the meantime, let me reassure you with each contraction and labour pain that I’m really not a hairy dude biker with a big Adam’s apple, but rather I embrace my Martian side.

And I have the stretch marks to prove it!

Do you have a space that is all your own? If so let us know how it feels and what it looks like.

DIY And The Art Of Fire Protection – Part 1

I have had a week filled with fire protection devices. Before anyone panics, there’s been no smoke and certainly no fire. No flames, no ashes, no cinders. I am happy to report that the house and all its inhabitants are still intact.

These encounters are largely due to the Italian Stallion and his passion for DIY. Actually, having a hubby who not only has the passion, but the skills to match is extremely beneficial, although the downside is the potential to be woken up at 7am on a weekend morning to the sound of a working drill emanating from the garage below the bedroom. Passion like this cannot be confined to normal waking hours.

Photo: freedigitalphotos.net

I really only came into the benefit of a DIY household in my marriage. My late father’s DIY skills extended to dialling the phone number of the nearest handyman and to negotiating payment and price. Dad did a fair job although he was the consummate delegator to my mother who then had to deal with the handyman to get the job done. My working mother was wise, she always knew that when Dad said “we need to get the pipe fixed” that translated to “you, my darling wife, need to be here to oversee the fixing of the pipe, wait around in the hope that the handy man shows up and inspect and approve the work with the skill of a seasoned building inspector and arrange payment”.

Anyway, back to the present…

Some years ago, my State introduced the requirement for every residence to install smoke alarms within a certain distance of each bedroom.  This meant we had to install a smoke alarm somewhere near the upstairs bedrooms. The base of the stairwell to our second story is near the kitchen and the Italian Stallion used his wonderful DIY skills to promptly install the alarm in the ceiling above the said stairwell base on the ground floor.  However, this smoke alarm is a bit of a SNAD – sensitive new age device and starts shreeking with monotonous regularity. The fact that it does this at the times I am preparing dinner is purely coincidental.

For whatever reason, the SNAD has decided it cannot cohabit with the oven. The oven has been cleaned to within an inch of its element, but still the SNAD has issues. Manually turning off the SNAD would be an easy task – a push of the button – if only I was an Amazonian. I am not short, in fact I can push five foot, nine/ten inches in heels. However, the ceiling is about six and a half feet off the ground above the stairwell. Even balancing on the third step, I am an inch or two short and I can’t even use a chair to stand on given the stairs. I have therefore resorted to using implements to silence the SNAD. This week it was the feather duster jab… it worked, but I came away with an extra plastic bit in my hand. I have also used a shoe, a rolling-pin, a broom and a loaf of bread. I’m quite partial to the shoe technique although this tends to leave unwanted scuff marks in the absence of Lionel Richie having danced on my ceiling.

Things are only marginally better when either my eldest or the Italian Stallion is at home. They of the required footage and inchage also suffer from selective deafness. When the SNAD finally penetrates either brain because it has reached some arbitrary unbearable level, out storms one or the other and silences the SNAD usually with a fist and a grunt for good measure. The result is silence and a rather sad smoke detector with cover, battery and wires left hanging.

We live in a world where we have armed ourselves with protection and reminders – fire alarms, car alarms, house alarms, merchandise theft protection devices, alarm clocks and phones  – and spend our life ignoring them. Most shop assistants don’t even pause when they hear the noise, they have experienced so many false alarms. Office workers spend their lives dodging fire drills and nobody tends to move when a fire alarm activates. Car alarms are more often used to find lost vehicles after a happy night out.

The next step for us is to send the oven and SNAD off to couples therapy. Either that or it’s take away every night. Now, there’s an idea…

Are there any noises that really annoy you? Do you have your alarms well trained? 

The Getting of Wisdom Road Trip

Confucius said:

By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is the noblest; Second, by imitation, which is the easiest; and Third, by experience, which is bitterest.

Confucius was a smart guy. He obviously thought about stuff. Far be it for me to improve on Confucius, but I think that the third method of learning should not be the bitterest, but the bittersweetest (assuming that’s a word). To me learning always has an element of sweetness even if the lesson is forced upon you, because you have come away with something. The process may be unpleasant, the result not so much.

I am going on a road trip, something that I love. Living in a big city, there are not many occasions where I just get to drive on the open road, listening to music and savouring my inner dialogue. It’s one of my ways to get perspective, experience the new and possibly unexpected and see some of this great country. Here’s to the getting of wisdom through door number 1.

On this trip, I will be travelling to Queensland…..beautiful one day, perfect the next…. to visit a friend. I feel doubly lucky with this one, because at the end of the trip there will be more getting of wisdom though some much needed girlfriend therapy – open doors number 2 and 3!

Everyone needs to do something daily that feeds their soul. It can be something as simple as taking 20 minutes to get out of the artifice of air-conditioning, looking at flowers, breathing deeply, whatever…. I never used to make time to do that, thinking I was always too busy or that the feeding had to come through some grand, complex experience.

Now, it’s the single most important thing I do daily. My family relies on me to be there for them. I am the root, they are the tree. If the root is not healthy and fed, neither is the tree. It is my responsibility to ensure I get fed, other people can feed me, but they do not have an obligation to … they can be unreliable, even with the best of intentions and love in the world. A well fed, healthy root system gives back abundantly – more fruit, more shade, and more structure.

Love this – thanks zazzle.com.au

I’m leaving the males in my family behind as the guardians of the castle and can only hope that they don’t run out of paper and cordial. What’s that saying again about absence and heart fondness…?

The curtain raising bus is hitting the highway and is looking forward to coming back with some road trip widsom.

Happy mother’s day to all of the mum’s out there!!

Sockcam: Calling All Venture Capitalists

Living in a house full of males makes laundry days very dull affairs. A serious yawnfest and study in homogeneity.

On laundry days, I peer into my laundry basket and all I see is a sea of black and gray. Mind you, I am eternally grateful for that sea because it actually means that by some extraordinary miracle, the laundry of my children has made its way into the room where laundering takes place. I am assuming for the minute that the laundry didn’t crawl there by itself, although anyone who has teenagers would know that is a real possibility, especially when the laundry has aged waiting for the bus to arrive.

Back to the sea. For some unknown mystery male reason, the males in my house only ever wear black or grey underclothes. Colourless socks and undies, all uniform, all designed to drive the laundry lady, aka me, spare. Washing I can cope with, but when it comes folding and matching those little suckers, I’m definitely thinking life is too short. If some person of the male species reading this could enlighten me as to why colours and gasp…a pattern or two are a no-go zone in the male underworld, then I would be forever grateful.

 

Guys, you need to have pity on those of us who do your laundry!

As if the lack of colour does not increase the degree of laundering difficulty enough, when it comes to matching and folding clean socks I always have less than I started off with. It’s almost as if these individual socks have had enough of toeing (get it?…toeing) the shoe line and wait for the minute they can escape to I know not where. Presumably, there is a single sock bar somewhere just waiting for escaped socks or they go and sign up for e-sock harmony or go out to fight at sock club waiting to heel (get it?… heel) or something.

This mystery requires in-depth research and hence my proposed invention…..

SOCKCAM!!

That’s right, a mini waterproof camera that could be fitted on top of the toe of a sock to track its every adventure sending images back to basecamp. We could witness the spying of the escape route, the brush with natural predators up the pipe and the foraging for a mate and finally acceptance in the sock’s natural habitat so that it can ditch its footloose (surly you knew that was coming) status. The footage so exciting that  it would be turned into a three episode mini series with David Attenborough commentating.

This has got real legs, a sure winner.

All I need is come capital. Any takers? Any suckers sockers out there? Be a part of this ground-breaking research, amaze your friends at parties and help revolutionise laundry day around the globe.

In the meantime whilst I wait for my venture capitalists to appear, I’ll continue running my co-op for disenfranchised socks and hope that I can integrate these single socks back into their drawer societies in the not too distant future.

 

May The Fourth Be With You: Memories Are Made of This

Happy Star Wars Day!

This is not a Sith joke……. but the day to rattle your light sabre, don your human hair ear muffs, have dinner with your favourite droids under multiple moons and practice your Wookie.

As most of you know, I am not a big science fiction fan. However, the original Star Wars movie, now called Star Wars: Episode IV  – A New Hope is one of those movies that holds a special place in my memory. It really was a ground breaking movie for its time when it was released in 1977, both in terms of special effects and in terms of introducing relatively new actors to the scene in Harrison Ford, Carrie Fischer and Mark Hamill.

It is special because my late father loved science fiction. He could never convince my mother to go with him to such a film and so it fell upon me to accompany him. Star Wars (all original three episodes, being IV, V and VI) was our little father/daughter adventure,  an experience we shared – just him and I. We would talk about each movie for weeks beforehand and plan the time we would see it. Dad would make each excursion special by buying a bucket of popcorn so big that it could accommodate Darth Vader’s mask.

Dad used to marvel at the special effects, which given the advance in technology since, are now laughable.  Remember sensoround sound? Dad could never resist telling all and sundry about the magnificence of the scene where Luke is piloting his X-wing fighter down the narrow alleys of the Death Star chased by Darth Vader and his wingmen. My father was a natural story teller and he had a great knack of making something seem relevant even when it was not. Want to talk about the price of fuel? Clearly, Luke’s flight through the Death Star is relevant.

I will also always remember that Dad and I first saw Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back in Tokyo, Japan. We were on a holiday and couldn’t resist the temptation to go see the movie upon its release. I imagine we were the only two people in the theatre who did not require the Japanese subtitles.

This day therefore holds some poignancy for me and I have since shared the three movies with my sons.

There is one more reason why Star Wars is memorable and why I saw it four times at the cinema. Remember that those were the days before videos and DVDs. For you my blog readers, I will reveal a never before told secret. Yes, it’s true…I had a MAJOR crush on Mark Hamill, his Luke Skywalker character and James Earl Jones’ voice.  Oh yes, oh my… “Luuuuuuke”.

Do you have any particular Star Wars memories?

X is for XY Chromosome: Missing the Refill/Replace Gene (#atozchallenge)

photo from flikr -
chrisinplymoth's
photostream

I live in a house full of males, in a veritable tsunami of testosterone. Those who are familiar with my blog, know that I have sons. For His own reasons, the dear Lord did not see fit to bestow upon me the gift of daughters and sometimes I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if He had. A whole world of Barbie dolls, pink fairy wings and tulle has passed me by.

Boys are a whole lot of fun. Boys are the gateway to cheeky play, physical nonsense and unrelenting banter. We bond over computers, cars, baseball, soccer, laser tag and we wrestle. I am lucky I have always been something of a tom boy so enjoy all of these types of activities and of course, the bond between mother and son is a rather special one. Male to male bonding is also fascinating to watch. I have observed that the more a male is bonded with another male, the more likely he is to playfully tease said other male. Guys’ currency tends to be mild teasing banter and I can mix it with the best of them. I suppose it’s why I have always had a lot of plutonic male friends.

Life in my house can get rather interesting and at times I do feel like it’s three to one. Me thinks there is a slight conspiracy going on around here. Me versus them in a battle of the chromosomes. The battle is the battle of the refill or replenish and the gladiators are merciless. The battle goes something like this:

    1. One of the drinks of choice for the boys is cordial which is akin to Kool-Aid. Cordial is made up of flavoured sugary syrup diluted in water, about 1 part in 10. As a mother I would of course prefer that my sons drink water or other healthier alternatives, but let’s not turn this into a health debate, because then you’ll miss the point of this post.
    2. The cordial resides in a two litre bottle in the fridge and the boys happily help themselves.
    3. At about the quarter bottle full mark, the boys start pacing themselves with the cordial and carefully watch the reduction in quantity.
    4. They will each take only so much such that there is always some quantity above negligible left in the bottom of the bottle.
    5. The object of course is not to be the last to drink from the bottle to avoid having to refill it and to maximise the chance that I will instead do the job.

This battle is all about precision timing and precision measurement. It’s a game of stealth  and strategy. Who knew that the boys possessed the skills of a scientist without the use of scientific instruments? Skills for life, people…skills for life!

The skills learned in the cordial arena are also applied to kitchen paper towel refill and of course to paper refill in the bathroom. The golden rule seems to be NEVER use the last sheet for he who exposes the cardboard roll will be put to unthinkable effort.  Never mind that there are full rolls within easy reaching distance.

At one point I put up a sign in our kitchen proclaiming “changing the roll will not give you pimples”. It didn’t work.

I’m still changing rolls and making up cordial and have firmly come to the conclusion that the refill/replace gene just does not appear on the XY chromosome. Either that or I have a battle of Darwinian proportions on my hands!

Q is for Quirkiness: It’s Quite The Thing To Celebrate (#atozchallenge)

photo from flikr –
duncan’s photostream

I have a set of those magnetic word fridge magnets in my kitchen. The ones where each magnet is a word which can be combined to form sentences or thoughts or anything else that takes the author’s fancy. I thought having a set would promote creativity in my sons and communication within our family to assist with inventory control – there is much to take from a one word sentence: “milk”. Plus, I was just plain curious what my children would do with them.

The magnets have been used to comment on the garden, the weather, my sons’ self proclaimed awesomeness (well, they are teenagers) and my wisdom or rather lack thereof (well once again, they are teenagers). The other week, I woke up to find the following stuck on my fridge:

My initial reaction was laughter. My thoughts then drifted to the message being more of the same said self-proclaimed awesomeness variety and I found myself asking exactly to what apparatus was this referring? As far as I knew, my sons had not had a working chemistry set for at least five years. The thought then crossed my mind that in fact it could be my husband’s message. Well, I have to confess I have had more romantic overtures but for an attention grabber this scores about an 8.5.

I then paused and concluded that this was my younger son’s work, he of the quirky nature. I say this with a great deal of motherly love and affection for I love this quirkiness in him. Whilst this was on my fridge, to me it was totally off the wall. This type of humour for an almost 13 year old?  I’m not one to brag incessantly about my children. In fact, I survived mothers’ groups with my infants without once proclaiming they understood the theory of relativity at the age of 4 months. Oh, the pressure!

But, it has made me realise I am drawn to quirkiness and that parenting a quirky child is not without difficulties. The school system generally does not rate quirkiness highly, relying on pushing students through a mass transit system. A lot of teachers don’t value and just don’t know how to deal with difference. In the jungle of the schoolyard, there is a tendency for quirky kids to be ridiculed and abandoned. Tweeny boys look for and bond over similarities. It has been that way since the cavemen starting comparing their clubs.

My desire is that my quirky one enjoys his high school years and looks back on them as a positive experience. But I am conflicted, I don’t want him to lose his quirkiness, his uniqueness. I have this sense that as an adult his quirkiness will hold him in good stead and that it will make him stand out in the competitive crowd in positive ways. In my adult world political correctness, conservatism and uniformity abound. But ironically, it tends to be the few who are truly innovative which leave a mark on that world. And how does the innovative adult’s journey usually begin? As a quirky child.

So, on this Q day I celebrate quirkiness. May my son’s apparatus continue to rock the storm throughout his life.