Purpose

I could probably write a post every single day about something a politician has said which has caused the urine in my bladder to approach boiling point. When I see what our elected officials are spouting the air in my vicinity adopts the vivid purple hue of a two day old bruise, as the blue from my swearing mixes with the crimson of my rage.

I don’t write those posts every day, because I don’t have the time. Or the inclination. Or the purpose.

Ah yes. Purpose. It’s not only me who lacks it. According to Childcare Minister Elizabeth Truss the nurseries of our nation are riddled with purposeless toddlers. Apparently, our approach needs to be more closely aligned with the French (yes, really, a Tory politician who thinks our continental cousins have something better than us).

Our nurseries are “chaotic settings, where children are running around”. How DARE THEY? Children, some as old as FOUR, with not even a hint of a schedule. Which means, of course, that by the time they get to primary school they are not prepared to sit down and listen to a teacher.

I’m sorry (I’m not), but what utter, utter tripe this is.

First off, let me say this: I want my child, and the children of others, to grow up in a world where they are allowed to be children. Actually, allowed? No. Encouraged. Being a child is amazing. Playing is amazing. All the fantastical things we believe as children which are driven out of us before our tenth birthday, Father Christmas, the Tooth Fairy, and all their friends, are great. Not having a care in the world is lovely, and it should last as long as possible.

Seriously, adults, just because we’ve signed up to a world model which requires constant growth which we have trouble sustaining, doesn’t mean we ought to be grooming our children to be part of it from ever earlier ages.

Second, has Elizabeth Truss ever seen how purposeful a two year old can be? Perhaps the nanny she employs to look after her kids could give her an insight into that one. Here is a brief video of Cam:

Looks pretty purposeful there, doesn’t he? Sure, the purpose he’s displaying might just be to remove as many tissues as possible from that box, but he seems pretty sure of that intention, right?

Cam’s not even two. He’s only just one. A purposeful one year old.

Like all other one and two year olds, his purpose is simple: learn through experience. Play. Discover. Explore. Interact with the world around him.

Be a baby. Be a toddler. Be a child.

Let the adults worry about having a purpose because, in all honesty, most of them probably haven’t worked theirs out yet.

Writing the Book on Parenting...

Every lunchtime during the working week I walk from my office and go to ASDA.  It's the only place within walking distance; which is both a shame, and an indication of the salubrious setting of my workplace.

One day this week, as I walked from one end of the store to the other, I passed a family: Mum, toddler and Granny.  This is not unusual in this particular ASDA, lots of people seem to think their kids should learn the ways of Smart Price early on.

A little more unusual was the snippet of conversation I heard as I passed them:

Granny: "do we need to get cutlery?"

Mum: [shouting] "she don't need a fork, she'll use her fucking fingers"

Which was nice.

Now, I'm in no position to give parenting advice, nor am I the sort of person who is likely to tell someone else that what they're saying to their child is possibly, maybe, just a tiny bit inappropriate.  But it was, and I didn't think it was a technique Supernanny would have been proud of.

I'm very happy to litter my speech to adults with swearwords, I don't attach any greater significance to them than I do any other word.  But this made me feel sorry for the child.  Maybe it was the first and only time the mum had ever sworn at her, or maybe it was a regular part of their relationship.  I don't know.  But it just seemed so unnecessary.  It was swearing as filler, swearing as punctuation, not swearing for effect or emphasis.  Even if it had been the latter, not in the direction of a toddler surely?

It made me judge the mother too.  I wondered what other things she might think were okay which I might not.  I wondered what the girl would be eating with her fingers; bolognaise perhaps?  A tasty curry?  Perhaps this mum also thought that a bowl of cereal should be eaten without a spoon?

Two days later I heard another mother tell her son "you can't go on the fucking ride, and you're not getting any fucking sweets, now shut up".  That was in ASDA too.  The boy didn't look to be misbehaving, but he did look like he hadn't enjoyed being spoken to like that.  Not an isolated case then.

Am I wrong, or being prudish?  Maybe everyone swears at their kids (and I don't mean the under-the-breath frustration swearing, I mean swearing AT their kids) and it's all part of their growing up experience.

Perhaps when I'm a dad myself I'll understand it, but for now I'll just remain dumbfounded.

A Glimpse of the Future

Just a month to go.  One month.  Four weeks.  Thirty odd days.  That's not very long really, is it?  The baby is nearly here, he's been patiently swimming around in amniotic fluid for nearly long enough, his little body is ready to break free and begin its attack on the outside world.

So what better way to spend one of our final weekends sans baby visiting Mrs L's brother and his wife and their little boy.  At the start of the week Mrs L received a phone call from her brother, it went like this:

B: Hi [Mrs L]
Mrs L: Oh hi [brother], we're really looking forward to the weekend!
B: Yes.  Good.  The boy has turned into the ACTUAL DEVIL.  He's forgotten how to sleep, is angry all day every day and will probably soon be turning his head through three hundred and sixty degrees and projectile vomiting pea soup.  You may wish to reconsider your visit.
Mrs L: Okay, well, let's decide at the end of the week, we'd hate to miss him.

I jest of course.  He didn't actually say the head spinning and vomiting parts.  On Friday morning he phoned again and informed us the situation had not improved.  Of course, we were undeterred and, on Friday evening, hopped in the car (complete with "just in case" baby supplies) and prepared to do battle with the eighteen month old manifestation of evil.

Imagine our surprise then, when we arrived to find the house intact, no swirling fog and a distinct lack of dead members of the catholic church.  The updated situation was this: "he's gone to bed with no fuss at all, better than he has in weeks, we don't know what's happened!"

You've robbed me of a woe filled blog post about our weekend in hell, I thought.  Oh well.  Here's some things I learnt over the course of the weekend:

1. Even the new, improved, going-to-bed-with-no-fuss nephew's "best night in ages" still involves waking up well before 7am and ensuring everyone else in the house is awake too.
2. When your vocabulary is limited to "daddy", "mummy", "shoes", "car", "bus", "train" and "dog" you will say those words A LOT.  It's cute, but there are moments your audience may yearn for the second album.
3. Eighteen month olds have a switch somewhere within them.  The switch is easily changed from position one "peace" to position two "war".  Once switched only mummy knows how to return it to position two.  This is inconvenient if mummy happens to be in the shower.
4. Given a saucepan, a wooden spoon, a cake tin and fifty Rice Krispies, a toddler will make fifty Rice Krispies worth of dust and a kitchen floor that needs sweeping.  This particular toddler will also remain switched to "peace" for around thirty minutes.
5. Going to a park and playing on the swings gave rise to probably the most raucous laughter of the weekend.  Sweet!
6. Toddlers can fall asleep anywhere.  Including on their father's shoulders while walking back from the park with the swings.  Swings are pretty tiring.

Just add toddler...

It was far from the sleep free nightmare weekend originally advertised, but it still managed to make us both realise what an unpredictable future we have ahead of us.  That future is closing in fast, so I'd better go and get some sleep.