Independence

Claudia wants a watch so she 'knows how fast she has to walk to get to school'. She is promised one for her birthday in a few weeks. Until then:
"As long as you leave by 8:30, you will have plenty of time to play at school. If you leave after then, I will take you." (It's 8:10)
"Well go get dressed then!"
I get ready. It's now 8:25. I go and sit at the pc. In she comes.
"I want to be at school by 8:30. Hurry up or we'll be late!"
This was not the agreement, but I am dressed so I get up. I start looking for the keys. They are not is any of the usual places and retracing yesterday's steps does not help.
"Mummy, I am going to school. I can't wait for you!" She goes to the front gate. "You should be ready!"
"I am ready, I just can't find the keys! How was I supposed to know that I wouldn't be able to find the keys??"
"You went on the computer. You know you shouldn't go on the computer until you're COMPLETELY ready!" And off she goes.

Although I am unnecessarily dressed, she has walked to school on her own by her own choice. Without the watch. I consider this a win.

Mornings

8:30am: I stride across the living room in my silk negligée(!), holding my furry cowprint dressing gown over my head like a sail, singing "it's time to go to school now" to the Muppet Show theme tune.
Claudia sings back "then why aren't you dressed?"
I stop and stare at her. "Can't I go like this?" I enquire.
She looks at me for a long moment, trying to decide where to go with this. She knows that the wrong thing might actually make me take her as I am.
In the end she goes for "Do you want to go like that?" in a very grown up tone.
I laugh and go into my bedroom.
Well played, Cláudia, well played.

In the top ten experiences of my life:

When I picked my 8yr old up from school today she asked whether we could go to a store please.
"What store? Why?" I ask.
"I just want to get a little something."
"Ok, I suppose we could walk round to the Chinese store (kinda like a £ store) when we get back."
Once at the store, Claudia pretends to wander around looking at stuff. Everything I pick up and comment on as we walk round she pounces on as I put down and checks out how much it is. I make a point of noticing 3 or 4 things that I particularly like. After a while I ask her if she's found anything she wants.
"How much can I spend?" She asks.
"Well, it depends what you're getting and why." I answer.
She looks pained. I am trying not to laugh by this point. After a few minutes I say, offhand, that 10 euros seems like it would be the most she should spend, but she could spend less. The important thing is how much a thing is liked, not how much it cost.
"Hum. It's so difficult to decide!"
"I know. I really liked those scarves, but can't decide which colour. And I liked those tops, but you didn't seem into them. But we both really liked those leggings, didn't we?"
More agonized indecision.
"Claudia, can I give you the 10 euros and go and sit outside and wait for you? Do you mind?"
Sunshine breaks across her face. Yes, that's a great idea. I go outside and window shop for a few minutes. Eventually she comes out with a carrier bag. She gives me the change. We walk home without comment.
When we get home, she theatrically gives me the bag.
"Happy birthday, Mummy!"
Lo and behold, she has bought the leggings.
I look at her and laugh. "Thank you, darling." I say. "Your father really is useless, isn't he?"

Not always eye to eye. But always heart to heart.

What can I say about Mothering Sunday?

A pair of swallows are busy building a nest under my porch and as they flit by I try to think of something meaningful about nesting and protectiveness. Nope.

My usual research sources are piping on about pagan festivals on the one hand and on the other, something convoluted about gaining freedom through the Mother Church. Nope.

Being a mother is not something I wish to celebrate just once a year. Having a mother is also not a once a year type of thing. I understand the origins of coming home to one’s mother church once a year and seeing family, but nowadays we have birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, bank and school holidays. Not to mention the good old internet. Even the great mother figures of Christianity have their own saint days. Nope.

So what should Mothering Sunday be? I would rather spend 5 minutes of every day, or even 30 minutes a week, telling my mother I love her. I prize the tea made for me when I was ill or the way my daughter always lets me have her orange smarties far more than the card Daddy made them draw under threat of no TV the night before. I read today about one company offering hug-a-grams for those kids who can’t make it home. I know what a stranger turning up at my door and trying to hug me would get. And it’s not a cup of tea.

What I’m trying to say, is don’t do it for the sake of it. Think about your relationship. If you must join the circus, then be pro-active. Use today as an opportunity to schedule a visit or a call. Maybe, if those rascals don’t call you enough, take the initiative and call them. Or maybe, if you’re in my camp, take a moment to think that the symbolism of special days can be very important to some people and that your mum might be one of them. And get her some flowers!

And all in ten minutes!

-about ten minutes ago-
I enter room and find Claudia playing the flute.
"I wish I could play with you on Monday, Mummy."
"Well, these songs are a bit difficult for you, sweetie. Maybe you could do something simpler on your own or with Sue."
"No! I can't play recorder on my own! You play with me."
"Okay, let's pick a song."
-a song is picked. One minute is spent on the first line. I suggest the other recorder as it has smaller holes. She goes off and gets her fingering chart. She looks at it and gets cross with it as she thinks the notes are wrong. I point out that she is looking in the wrong place and the notes are all underneath on the stave.
"But I don't know what all the notes are!"
"But you know the notes you need for this song. And on this music the note on the stave also has its letter printed on it, so you can check that way."
-She is a bit grumpy now, and has a halfhearted attempt to play a note. Her fingers are not quite right so she makes a big show of really pressing them down. Then tells me it's my fault because I'm making her use the wrong recorder. She swaps back to the original one.
-another very cross attempt to play results in blowing too hard.
"I hate recorder!" Throws it on the sofa.
"Calm down Claudia."
"How can I do it when you keep shouting at me?"
"I'm not shouting, I'm telling you to calm down and decide whether you want to play and what you want to play on. You could play the flute."
"I want to play the ukelele."
"Well, maybe Daddy could give you lessons, but not for Monday!"
-cross sulky muttering ensues. She decided she wants a snack and discovers there is none left of the yoghurts she likes.
"Daddy ate the last one!"
-Storms into our bedroom to watch TV.
"I hate being part of this family!"
"Well, close the door behind you and pretend that you aren't then."
-two minutes later the door opens. She can't get the remote to work and storms into the kitchen to find something else to eat muttering loudly about the family. I get up, go into the kitchen, close the fridge door and tell her to go to her room and stay there until she can behave and rejoin the family.
Now, this all happened in the space of ten minutes. How did it go from cuddles and happy time to screaming door slamming so quickly and over, actually, what, in the end??
By the way, she is neither 4 years old nor 14, both of which sound likely from this, she is 8. She is in her bedroom screaming. Come 14 and I am moving out!

Multitasking

Of an evening:
I am sitting watching Criminal Minds.
Claudia is sitting doing crossstitch.
"Hang on," I say, "Why are they going to the train station? What makes them think the bad guy is going there next?"
"Because he met his girlfriend on an exploding train." says Claudia.
"How do you know that??"
"Because I can multitask, Mummy."
"Multitasking aside, how can you follow an FBI profiling series better than I can??"

Shameful

Oh dear. After spending all day in bed asleep to try to combat pain, I drag myself out to go pick up Claudia from school. I have on the leggings and top (inside out) that I have been wearing in bed, my hair has been liberally waxed and hairsprayed yesterday and then slept on. I am only grabbing the girl so I don't brush anything or even put shoes on. When I get to the school I noticed an unusual amount of activity and realise that Parents' evening is in full swing and I have forgotten. So I sneak into the classroom 25 minutes late, shoeless and unkempt. At least she had better marks than I was expecting.

Making music

Claudia is knocked out on the sofa with a temperature of 40.1. They couldn't get hold of me from school yesterday so she spent the day under the table asleep. I have three problems:
1. I have repeatedly given them updated mobile phone numbers. They have mine, her father's, her grandmother's and a friend authorized to pick her up. Why can't they call any of them? They called the house phone.
2. How much of a problem would it be to have a sick bay? We had one at all the schools I attended. It doesn't have to be much more than a cupboard with a campbed in!
3. She won't let me practise my xaphoon today. :'(

On bugs...

Claudia: A tic!
I reach for the tape.
Oh! Wait, it's flying.
Tics can't fly. (put tape down.)
No, I think it's hanging.
Hanging? (slightly confused, pick up tape.)
Yes, hanging in the air.
Claudia, that's a spider! I'm not sellotaping a spider!

Dear Claudia Grace,

You are 8 years old, skinny, long blond hair and freckles all over your nose. You look a little like an angel that may or may not have raided the sweetie jar, depends who's asking. People call you a Barbie doll and exclaim how wonderful you are. I smile and nod, and watch whilst you shy away from their hands as they try to stroke you, grimace and theatrically wipe your face after their kiss. I want to say - and frequently do, "Wait until she opens her mouth." or "Yeah, in public."

You are a beautiful, loved, clever and artistic little girl and you must never think otherwise, but I have to tell you that your father and I have come close to 'losing' you in public places, tripping you up down stairs or even feeding you to the dogs before. You are what I have come to know as a "easily frustrated, chronically inflexible" child.

I found that in a parenting book. Usually I avoid such things like the plague, but after I had shown your father and we had both fallen about laughing at such a wonderfully apt and politely put description of you, I did buy the book and read it from cover to cover. It has some great ideas and goes to some length to tell me that I am not a failure as a parent, so I am a huge fan. We've gone ahead with some of the techniques and got a great response from you. The idea is that we define the problem, you define your problem, we decide why it's a problem and then we come up with some workable solutions together. So far this has worked fab. We have started with your inability to go to sleep. We have agreed that you cannot, indeed, go to sleep. We have discussed and identified around ten potential reasons why, and decided it's not them. You aren't too hot or too cold. Your bed is comfortable. Your pillow is fine. It's not too quiet, too noisy, too dark or too light. I come away from our discussion feeling joyful; we have talked about it with no screaming or crying! It's not until five minutes later I realise that we've not actually got anywhere. Back to Google.

Actually, it's still pretty good. You have three major problems. (I know this because your father and I spent an hour compiling a list the book gave us) You don't sleep. You don't eat. And you, roughly boiled down, have a fear of failure complex. We are convinced that if we can get you to sleep, most of the rest will solve itself. This seems to have played out these last few weeks of holiday when you have been able to sleep in in the morning. When less tired, you are more open to trying food, better tempered and have a better appetite. Of course, one big problem is that it might be your poor diet that causes your inability to sleep.

So our commitment is that we are going to fix it. I have looked into insomnia and its treatments. Basically, anything that causes you to sleep, ie, pills, should be a last resort and not used for extended periods of time. So there goes our plan of drugging you until you're 18. Insomnia cannot be treated, rather the underlying reasons for it need to be identified and treated. There is a possibility that lifestyle is a factor. However, we have been trying to overcome this for nearly a year now and have tried all the fixes. Melatonin, magnesium, lavender, massage, white noise, background music, no light, soothing light, bath before bed. No screens before bed, reading together, early nights, late nights, starting off in our bed, supper, no supper, milk... The only thing we noticed made a difference was that when we concentrated on the problem it stressed you out so much that it got worse. So we backed off completely and left you to your own devices as long as you were quiet. Sometimes you were asleep when we got to bed, sometimes not. We all got on a lot better so it has stayed thus until one of us can work out how the hell we sort it out.

We are down to diet or therapy, although we are going to give a fish tank a go in the meantime. We have to make you eat properly and see if it helps. If not, I am going to have to get you psychologically wotsitated for depression or anxiety. Neither of us will be surprised if you suffer from either, you have always been a tightly strung, wound up person. Everything is personal and you often overreact to situations. Nevertheless, we hope it doesn't come to that! So, diet it is. We will see how that goes.....

To victory

My girl will not be defeated. If she thinks she can't do it, she won't start it. If she thinks she can do it, she will not stop until it's done. No learning curves for her! 2/3 of the way up an 110m high 83% slope hillside I want to go back down but she refuses. I tell her the only way she is going up further is to go through the bushes so she can't fall down. So she endures gorse in her face for 40m to get to the top. Without complaint. I'm looking forward to meeting the boys brave enough to take her on.