Mother of a Man-Child

My life with teenage boys

Mother of a Man-Child: Griswold Family Holiday Anyone? April 21, 2011

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beachAs the men-children get older, so too does the challenge of finding a holiday to satisfy the whole family. This becomes increasingly important as their needs change, and also as the number of family holidays we are likely to have in the future with them diminishes rapidly. Although I have no doubt any offer to take them overseas will ensure an instant family holiday – no questions asked!!

That’s not to say that every family holiday should centre on the men-children, but more that we ideally want everyone to enjoy their time together. Mother of a Man-Child and Father of a Man-Child invariably want a relaxing holiday, having worked hard to ensure we can afford them in the first place; Sister of a Man-Child just wants to have fun playing with her parents and brothers and receiving bucket loads of undivided attention (fair enough when you’re seven), and the Men-Children want either access to loads of cool stuff or their mates on tap 24/7.

Both of these present challenges. Firstly, in order to satisfy the mate requirement, you either organise a family holiday with another family (no easy feat to co-ordinate in the modern world), or invite a couple of extra kids along on the trip (if you think you can cope or afford it), or stay where their friends stay. Having two men-children with different circles of friends makes the latter challenging to say the least. Especially when one of them thinks that Portsea at Christmas time is THE place to be (as I did at his age!!!). Apologies to my friends who have lovely beach houses down there, but I can’t bring myself to pay $’000’s of dollars over summer to rent a house there and queue for bread every day, or battle for a parking spot, only to bump into all my Melbourne acquaintances. Now of course if I had a lovely, large beach house I could hide in for summer that might be different. 🙂

So the alternative is finding somewhere that has cool stuff for men-children to do, to keep them entertained on occasion, and a place that also provides the opportunity for us to relax and unwind whilst entertaining a sometimes demanding seven-year old! Invariably we seem drawn to the beach for holidays (although we have done the odd snow vacation but frankly I find it anything but relaxing – I need a double espresso laced with Scotch by the time I hit the first run at 9am having got everyone out the door in all the requisite gear). There’s nothing quite like the warmth of the sun and the heady combination of sand and surf in Australia; we’ve been to some wonderful beach spots over the years with the kids, including Kangaroo Island, Merimbula, Sunshine Coast, Phillip Island, Gold Coast, Wilsons Promontory, Mission Beach, South Molle Island, Apollo Bay and of course Somers.

The beach is always the perfect antidote to Melbourne’s winter, and summer just isn’t the same without a spell beachside. And what’s a holiday in Australia without the mandatory road trip (we’ve done a few of them too) with the back of the car or trailer filled to the brim and the family resembling the Griswolds off on their next vacation!

But increasingly the boys are no longer happy to just be at the beach for days on end (certainly not in the company of their parents). God I hope this is normal and not just a reflection of how disliked we are by them? Like all good teenagers they seem intent on spending as much time as possible lying in bed, and then arising to feed, then swim, then feed and loll about again. Hence we look for a mixture of adventure and indulgence.

So we’re going to Hamilton Island in September, with lots of water activities and day trips for us and/or them to partake in whilst mother and daughter lie poolside, and hopefully some other teenagers they can hook up with day and/or night. And we’re considering Sydney in January. We figure there’s plenty for men-children and us to see and do in Sydney (bridge climbs, harbour jet boating, ferries, opera house, Sydney tower etc), and if all else fails, we’ll just spend days at Bondi beach watching the world-famous lifeguards rescue stupid international tourists from the many rips whilst they swim outside the flags – doh!!

BTW, I know it must seem ridiculous for me to be talking about holidays in January already, but as anyone with kids knows, you need to get in early if you are to be organised and find decent accommodation options for a family of five. So it’s never too early to float ideas with the family over dinner to see what sounds like a viable option. Any thoughts or suggestions welcome, especially if you’ve found a great spot that satisfies everyone.

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Liar, Liar Pants on Fire April 15, 2011

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Maybe it was the fact that I’d caught Man-Child II wagging at home on said day, that my lie detector radar was more finely tuned than normal.  Either that, or just having two 15-year-old men-children has enhanced my skills in this area.  That and having been a 15-year-old myself of course (a fact most adolescents can’t actually believe about their parents).

So after Man-Child II had eventually made it to school for the last day of term (following countless threats from Mother of a Man-Child), he and a few mates planned to go out.  He casually saunters in to mention that he’s staying at his “girlfriends” house (I use inverted commas because I call her that but he might only say she’s a close friend).  I instantly suggest he re-phrase the question and he responds:  “Okay, Mum is it alright if I stay at GF’s house tonight?”  Sorry to seem anal, but in my book 15 year olds still ask permission, they don’t just tell.

Now he had actually stayed there before with a large number of people, and I’d spoken to the mother to ensure everything was kosher.  So I said I guessed it was okay, but could I just have the mother’s number again to ensure it was fine.  “Sure, I’ll text it to you later” (meaning I’ll never bother to).  “No, GF is standing right here, please just give me the number for your mother.”

Following a swift glance between my son and GF (which I couldn’t help but notice and which made even more sense later), she tells me the number, but has to consult her mobile phone because it’s new apparently.  Okay, no problems.  So off they head to Maccas apparently on the way to GF’s house.

So I ring the mother on her mobile.  I’ve spoken to her before, but wouldn’t recognize her voice to be honest.  Pleasant chit-chat ensues…..”Hi it’s Man-Child II’s mother, just wanting to make sure it’s okay if he stays over etc….” Then I can’t help but say to her “Gee, you sound very young, in fact almost too young to be GF’s mother.  Obviously that’s a compliment I say” feeling like I’m treading where I shouldn’t go.  And then I have the conviction of my instincts and casually say “Look sorry, I’ll have to call you back, can you give me your home phone”.  And suddenly, I am met with silence on the end of the phone.  The deathly silence of someone who has been caught out – BINGO!!!

And the voice that now sounds even younger on the end of the phone says “I don’t know the number”.  “Oh really I say, so this isn’t GF’s mother is it?”.  “No”.  “Then who am I talking to?”  She tells me.  And so I say simply ”(name), next time your friend asks you to lie for her, and to lie to me, I’d strongly recommend you say No!  And obviously, you won’t be seeing Man-Child II at the party tonight!”

Father of a Man-Child is standing beside me laughing, in total awe of my detective skills.  He’s always known I don’t miss much (or really anything) but this is taking my expertise to new levels.

My next call is to Man-Child II, killing the romantic dinner at Maccas, cancelling the joy of the night to come, and telling him he has 15 minutes to get his lying arse home or there will be even more trouble.

Turns out he wasn’t planning on staying at the GF’s house, but somewhere else, and the parent wasn’t home until late, and since he knew I’d say no he came up with another story.  And so we had a discussion about trust, and telling the truth, and the need to try us out occasionally and just maybe we’d let him go.  And over time, eventually we’d let him go without asking any questions or calling any parents because we knew we could trust him.

I also said, here’s another way to look at it Man-Child II – next time, tell me both the lie and then the truth – you might find I prefer the truth and say yes !!  I realize this could backfire big time, but he got what I meant – honestly!! 🙂

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Tough Love – does it work? April 8, 2011

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heartI am a firm believer in Tough Love.  As defined by Wikipedia, “tough love” is an expression used when someone treats another person harshly or sternly with the intent to help them in the long run.   Of course tough love is infinitely more palatable when sprinkled with doses of good old-fashioned TLC.  A good mix is probably the ideal.

On reflection I would say I was brought up with a mixture of both.  I certainly have wonderfully happy memories of my childhood, but I also recall being brought up by pretty strict disciplinarians, and tough love when required.  It was a case of “you do the crime you pay the time” in our household and if you stuffed up then there were always serious consequences – pretty devastating ones when you’re a teenager and your social life is curtailed!!

The other day Man-Child II left his lunch at home.  We knew that because we found it sitting on the bench, and shortly afterwards he sent me a text message: “I forgot my lunch” (NO, really?).   Father of a Man-Child, being far more sympathetic and kinder than Mother of a Man-Child, instantly offered to take it to school for him.  “Absolutely NOT” I replied, he can go without.  And then I proceeded to text back man-child “Tough shit.  Buy your own or go hungry.”

On a roll, I added a few more messages about the mess left upstairs, no pocket-money being paid, etc as my usual frustrations set in.  Just what you need to start the morning off isn’t it?  Now before you think I am a very mean Mother, the reason he forgot his lunch is that he turned on the TV whilst waiting for his school shorts to dry (yep, I admit due to a rare backlog of washing) rather than packing his bag, making his bed, picking up a bathmat and towel off the floor etc.  So then in the ensuing rush to get out the door, he forgets lunch.

I think Tough Love teaches him that we won’t come running after a 15-year-old every time he forgets something, and hopefully he’ll be sure to remember it next time.  In the same way telling me 5 minutes before the first footy match of the season that his footy socks don’t fit drew very little sympathy.  I said “Oh well, we can’t buy them now.  You’ll just have to wear those and buy some new ones next week”.  Emphasis clearly on him, not me, to organize it.  If he can’t manage to get there after school one day, then bad luck I say.

And tough love extends past home on occasion.  Man-Child II also refused point-blank to wear white footy shorts last week for the “away” game.  No amount of insistence by me would convince him why he should, nor reasoning about rules, regulations, respect for team mates, the club etc.  And so he didn’t and he got away with it.  Apparently he never has worn them (no idea why).  Well tough love is telling his footy coach that next time he decides to flaunt the rules, he doesn’t go on the ground.  He doesn’t play by the rules, he doesn’t play period!

To be fair to Man-Child II, I’ve let him know that we’ve asked his coach to enforce this.  And when he came home from school on the day he forgot lunch, I did say I was sorry about being so angry, but did he understand that I was annoyed because he was disorganized yet again.  That’s when he admitted to turning on the TV.

So there you have it.  Tough Love.  I’m sure people who know me won’t be surprised that I endorse it.  It’s not always easy to do, but I’m convinced it’s worthwhile.  And hopefully deep down our men-children understand our motivation, if not now, then one day in the future.

Do you think I’m too tough?  Or not tough enough?  I promise I can take a stern talking to. 🙂

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Row, Row, Row Your Boat! April 1, 2011

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I love rowing!  Or more precisely I love my men-children rowing.  As my friends all say, the best way to keep a teenager out of trouble is to keep them busy.  So the more sport they do the better.  Bring it on!

Now that’s not to say that we love everything about rowing.  I can’t say we’re huge fans of the 6am starts, at least 3 days a week – including Saturday.  There goes the weekend lie in!  Thankfully Father of a Man-Child volunteers to take them most days – that’s because he’s one of those lucky people who can walk in the door 20 minutes later, hop back into bed and be snoring, I mean slumbering again within 30 seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

I, meanwhile, am still wide awake having heard all the preparations to get them out the door, and thinking damn I can’t go to 6am gym class because that would mean leaving 7-year-old daughter asleep in an empty house for 10 minutes. (I kid you not I am on my own here.  There are a few gym junkies I know who don’t even blink at leaving their kids in bed whilst they exercise – they just leave the phone number of the gym)!

The upside of the early morning starts is that the men-children cannot possibly be late for school on these days – there’s no excuses when they’ve been there since 6am is there?  And they get to eat breakfast – what man-child would turn down bacon and eggs before school?  I think Man-Child II tries to balance being early by being extremely late on the other days, just to ensure he doesn’t look like he’s being a model student.  The only problems arise when they forget something important, like school shoes (doh), and expect Mother of a Man-Child or Father of a Man-Child to take time out to drive through the madness that is school traffic to deliver them.  If it’s lunch, trust me we wouldn’t bother.  They can go hungry or buy something!

Of course with rowing (just like with rugby) comes a whole new world of language that is completely foreign to me.  There’s the ERGO’s (short for ergometer) they do on a regular basis (a simulated rowing machine basically to measure their performance) and the quads, fours, eights, sculls, firsts, seconds (referring to crews) and then cox, stroke, bow (boat positions) etc.  I know the cox is typically a smaller boy and sits at the front of the boat, but that’s about all.  And then there’s unique rowing terms to learn, like “catch a crab”, “jumping a slide” and “feather”.  And we’re not at a beachside playground.

With every new sport comes equipment, in this case there’s the specialist (read expensive) uniform, a rather snug all in one rowing suit.  Naturally my men-children being very different, one wears this with pride, as do all the senior rowers, and the other one simply believes it’s far too “gay” and therefore chooses the fitted shorts and singlet – really it doesn’t look very different, but psychologically it clearly is!  We should be thankful they don’t need any shoes for rowing – saves us a small fortune having them barefoot.

For a short period this season the boys actually ended up in the same quad crew – it didn’t last very long, but it’s bound to happen again.  Part of me thinks it’s a good thing they’re apart, and part of me likes the idea of them doing something together in a small team – good for their mutual respect for each other.  We’re yet to attend our first official regatta for the boys.  I’ll be fascinated to go to a Head of the River event as a parent to see how it compares to those I attended at Barwon River as a teenager.  Just like the Melbourne Cup, we weren’t there to watch the rowing (or horses), trust me!

“Ready all, Row”

 

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Trouble on school camp! March 25, 2011

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“Hello Mrs M (that’s me, Mother of a Man-Child), it’s Mr Y from the Z school camp.  There’s been an incident involving your son!”  This phrase is enough to propel any parent into a momentary panic attack. My first irrational thought: “OMG, is he okay?”  This is followed shortly after by “Right, what the hell has he done now!!!”

And so it was that Man-Child II found himself on a “retreat” with the school, designed to give 15-year-old boys some time to reflect on their adolescent journey, and to grow up a little as they enter the serious end of their education.  Clearly my son decided it was an opportunity to demonstrate that he wasn’t quite up to the task!!!

It seems Man-Child II had successfully thrown an aerosol can into the fire on camp, which naturally enough exploded about 10 seconds later.  Apparently it sounded like a shotgun going off, so you can imagine the initial panic by the teachers.  He tells me he was the only one of his friends who volunteered (stupidly) to throw it and that it was a pretty lucky shot from a distance!

Once calm had been restored, and it was clear what had happened (yes with my son the only culprit) they then had to decide how to respond.  Since the incident was deemed serious enough, especially since it could have resulted in an injury to someone, the decision was made to send him home early from camp.  Hence their call to me, the lucky parent.

My first thought: “Great, a trip to Healesville and back on a week night.  Fabulous, can’t wait to spend two hours in the car tonight!”  (Sadly we all sign a form agreeing to fetch our wayward children in the event of any such incident like the above.   You hope they’re not at the snow trust me!)  My second thought was “Gee, I wonder if this will be enough to have him asked to leave the school?”, since it’s not the first time he’s come to the attention of the vice-principal.  However, whilst they considered it a serious error of judgment on my son’s part, they also acknowledged it as a “stupid teenage boy thing” so he received a Saturday detention and was sent home early as punishment.  Along with the mandatory lectures from a few different teachers along the way, oh and of course Mother and Father of a Man-Child!!

Ironically he thought that it was far better being driven home by one of his teachers than having to sit on the bus.  Lucky for me, said teacher was attending a dinner on their last night and so was able to bring him home and save me a trip.

His brother Man-Child I left for his retreat this week.  As he got out of the car I simply said “Please don’t get sent home from camp, I couldn’t bear it”.

P.S.  Apologies to those subscribers who received a blog notification three times last week via an unexplained glitch – clearly WordPress shared my excitement about the boys moving upstairs!!!

 

 

Mother of a Man-Child: A space to call their own! March 18, 2011

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renovationWell it’s been almost seven months in the making but the boys finally have their space upstairs and our renovation is almost complete.  Since one of the men-children has officially relocated upstairs I couldn’t wait to share the news. 🙂

It’s become clear to me that renovations are a bit like childbirth – over time you forget how painful, disruptive, expensive, and time-consuming it can be (a renovation not a child), and next thing you know you’ve jumped right back in and suddenly find your house turned upside down.  Our last reno was 13 years ago, so we’ve had quite some time to forget the original trauma.

Once the builders moved from working upstairs in the roof cavity, which was relatively painless I must admit, to downstairs IN the house, we very quickly got sick of the dust, dirt and constant stream of tradies through the house.   Not to mention living with one small bathroom between five of us, having the new bathroom fittings and accessories living in our hallway for a couple of months, my daughters temporary bedroom (in the study) hosting hoards of teenagers on the PS3 every weekend, a port-a-loo in the driveway for the builders (yes I know the alternative is far worse), bathtubs and scaffolding in the backyard (very attractive) and a laundry chock-a-block with furniture overflow.

Add to that a couple of hiccups with delays in delivery of orders (the custom windows took two months to arrive), and our two new bathrooms look great, but we’re still waiting for the cabinets and basins (so bad luck if you want to wash your hands), and a few other things that just didn’t go my way.

Like making it to IKEA to order the new Queen size beds for the men-children (an earlier promise for our growing boys), only to find they were out of stock of one mattress (of course I need two, they’re not sharing a bed!).  So having queued at the checkout, then queued at the merchandise pick up counter, then queued at the home delivery counter, I have to go back and do it all again this week for the second mattress!!

Or having the electrician drop something on his foot the day he was supposed to come and do all the power, air-con etc, which meant the boys having moved upstairs anyway had extension cords running up the stairs with more power boards than Bunning’s.  I was sure we were going to short-circuit the entire house with the set up they had.   Naturally it was one of the few hot weekends in Melbourne, so no air-con and broken blinds (don’t ask) made it just a little toasty for them!

But all of the above aside, I’m delighted to say the results are fantastic and we are all thrilled with the new space.  The boys love their bedrooms, bathroom and sitting room.  They have Foxtel, their new flat screen TV, and PS3 upstairs.  The only thing they want is a bar fridge (yes you heard right) and they think they’ll be set forever!!  Oh and a dumb-waiter so we can send meals up and they can send their dirty dishes and clothes down – SURE!  Thank goodness we got a solid door at the foot of the stairs – they took it off temporarily and I was shocked at the noise travelling down the stairwell.  No more doof doof music and wrestling SFX for us – bliss.

Even the younger sister of the men-children loves her new bedroom (her brother’s old one), with so much more space for everything.  Just as well because the other day she ventured upstairs and the boys positively freaked out that she was “in our space”.   She wasn’t even allowed to sit on the new bed!  Naturally I’ve promised the boys the novelty will wear off for their younger sister, but I’ve also explained that they don’t OWN the space and told my daughter that whenever they’re not at home she can use it as much as she wants.  Peacekeeping skills also being a requirement of Mother of a Man-Child.

We’ve just christened the bath (as big as a small plunge pool – I promise in all other ways we’re water savers), and we’re still trying to fill the fantastic under stair storage area (okay, cheap thrills I know).   I’m hoping the shutters will only be six weeks on a slow boat from China, or the boys better get used to early morning starts once daylight savings ends. 🙂

So if anyone is taking the plunge and wants some reno tips, let me know.  Sadly I’ve developed some amazing project management skills in the absence of those promised by the builder, so I could be of use to you.

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Masterchefs in the Making? March 11, 2011

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As promised (or threatened depending on your point of view) I have been endeavouring to teach the men-children the art of cooking.  Not your high-end Masterchef type of cooking, but some simple dishes that will equip them with basic skills to survive in the kitchen, and that might even mean on a busy night we could call on the boys to help with preparing dinner.

A month back they had basically one meal in their repertoire – bacon and eggs.  No surprise when you’re a teenage boy.  Oh and two-minute noodles, if you count that as a “cooked meal”!  They’re adept at making a hearty (or heart-stopping?) meal of fried eggs and bacon coupled with toast and lashings of that great Australian tradition – tomato sauce.  Sadly they’re also adept at leaving the splattered remains all over the stove and the dirty frypan on the bench for Mother of a Man-Child to clean up.

So we began our own “Masterchef challenge”.  Each week I have been trying to teach them a new meal to make.  So week one was Mexican – pretty easy these days with the availability of kits, at least it has some salad greens in it, but go easy on the packet seasoning boys!

Week two was a curry.  Again made easy with great curry pastes these days, and pick virtually any meat and vegetable combo and you’ve got yourself a hearty meal.  And week three was a tuna pasta – again, nothing fancy, but a good carb-based meal for budding sports stars that can be put together readily with standard pantry items.

I’ve decided to tackle it one man-child at a time, one meal at a time.  It’s too hard to have both of them trying to make a meal with me in the kitchen – as they say “too many cooks…..”.

And the results:  so far we’ve had no food poisoning, and the meals have tasted just like the ones I make – since I’ve been standing over them, I guess that’s no surprise is it?  And the boys have actually embraced the idea – I think they realise it’s not a bad skill to have, and of course mentioning that it might also impress a girl goes a long way too.

Now the challenge is to make them realise that cleaning up after you cook is actually part of the job, especially Man-Child II, who seems to spill as much onto the stove as into the pot when he cooks!!!  Thankfully the need to earn pocket-money generally means we can convince them to also do the cleaning up, albeit reluctantly.

As we go along, we will no doubt move to more sophisticated meals.  But before you think I’m aspiring to grandiose things, I mean sophisticated for a 15-year-old, not a 30-year-old.  By the way, the men-children just turned FIFTEEN.  I for one cannot believe that I am the mother of two 15-year-old boys.  I had lunch recently with an ex colleague who asked about the boys, and when I told him how old they were, he kept repeating “fifteen, fifteen” with such incredulity I knew exactly how he felt!!

So Happy Birthday to my Men-Children, and happy cooking too!  Of course, recipe suggestions from my blog readers are welcome at any time.  🙂

 

 

Mother of a Man-Child: A Princess Tale. March 4, 2011

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When I am not being Mother of a Man-Child I like to think of myself as Mother-of-a-Princess.  My seven-year-old daughter is my princess, and she is an absolute delight.  Like all good seven-year olds, she still believes in all the wonderful magic of Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny and of course the Tooth Fairy.

She is so enamored with these magical beings that at every opportunity she leaves a gorgeous, heartfelt, hand-written note full of all the sincerity and love only an innocent seven-year old can muster.

Each time she leaves a note for the tooth fairy, she asks some personal questions so she can understand a little more about their magical lives.  So the first time, she wanted to know how tooth fairies knew that children had lost their tooth (a special homing device of course).  And then she wanted to know how old the tooth fairy was (10 fairy years) and when her birthday was  (we made the executive decision that it would be January 1 in the event you want to join my conspiracy).   Most recently (see pic) she wanted to know the particular tooth fairy’s name (Daisy).  For some reason we always refer to the tooth fairy as a girl, although perhaps next time it should be a boy to ensure some equality of the tooth fairy sexes.

As we discussed the note and the fact that the fairy had cleverly found one of my daughter’s special magical Textas (amazing isn’t she), the next round of questions began.   How big do you think they are (we both imagine they are very small)?  How do they get the tooth out of the water?  I mentioned they might have scuba gear! What about their wings?  How do they fly if they get wet?  They’re waterproof of course!  Or maybe they just use a fishing rod?

No doubt she went off to school with her head buzzing with the possibilities.  I for one had hysterical visions of a miniature tooth fairy clad in said scuba gear with wings protruding from the wetsuit and goggles on looking for a pearly white at the bottom of the deep glass.

It really is such a delightful time of innocence and joy to see the absolute belief they have in all things magical and make-believe.  Fancy those naysayers who espouse it is wrong to “lie” to children at a young age and say they should not be told fictitious tales about Santa and the Easter Bunny at all.  Party poopers!

Believe it or not we actually got the men-children to 10 years old before we broke the news about Father Christmas to them.  And that was only because we were travelling in the car with the kids pre-Christmas and we had no way to hide the boxes of presents without them becoming suspicious.  Of course we swore them to secrecy as their sister was only three and threatened them with near death if they ever ruined the fun for our “Princess”.  So far so good.  I actually think the boys enjoy being part of the conspiracy.  And so the magic continues. 🙂

 

Mother of a Man-Child: The Hurdy-Gurdy of Life February 25, 2011

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The only thing guaranteed in my life at the moment is the never-ending ride on an emotional roller-coaster, as we journey the ups and downs of adolescence with our men-children.  You never know quite what you’re in for on any given day – it could be a pleasant conversation where they actually respond to questions civilly (as opposed to the expected grunt) or an early morning screaming match because they’ve decided to start proceedings with an argument about stolen jocks whilst getting ready for school.

Why is it that so often I now think of my own parents, and my own adolescent behaviour as I parent my children?  Life, like history, has a way of repeating itself.  Teenager behaviour, just like toddler behaviour, is fairly predictable after all (give or take a few interesting events that will become family lore in our little part of the world).  So around and around we go, just like a hurdy-gurdy, with life invariably repeating itself over the generations.

We actually have our very own hurdy-gurdy (see pic).  An ancient piece of playground equipment, that I remember fondly as a child, with hours spent spinning wildly around and around with the neighbourhood kids.  I assume it’s called a “hurdy-gurdy” because it resembles the round disc-like version found at playgrounds.  But our hurdy-gurdy is particularly unique, and very much a part of our family history, and a special part of our lives.  We still talk about the time my sister managed to get her finger caught and mangled in the inner workings of the hurdy-gurdy – it wasn’t a pretty sight trust me.  Hence the plastic ice-cream container designed to ensure history doesn’t repeat itself again (low tech but effective).

The hurdy-gurdy spent years sitting out the back of my parent’s house, no doubt awaiting grand-children.  When finally they arrived, it took more than a little convincing for my husband to allow the junk/scrap metal to be bought to it’s new home.  And so began the painstaking process by Mother of a Man-Child to replace the rotted timber wooden seats, a sparkling coat of paint and new rubber handles for grip (not that we ever had anything that fancy).  And yet another generation (my boys) benefited from the joys of the hurdy-gurdy.  On the odd occasion, my adult siblings would climb upon the hurdy-gurdy late on a Christmas Eve, with much hilarity and recklessness, spinning far faster than they could remember it going (you definitely don’t do rides like you used to as you get older do you?).

As the boys grew, the hurdy-gurdy was cast aside again (parked down the side of our house) with occasional requests by my husband to remove it permanently.  Thankfully we didn’t, because along came our daughter, and only recently the hurdy-gurdy is enjoying life yet again, this time accompanied by the squeals and delights of small girls, who all gaze in wonder at this strange toy, and when they finally understand it’s workings have a wonderful time enjoying wind in their hair, and un-abandoned, dizzying freedom.

Now that my younger sister has a baby and a new house with a good backyard, there is talk of handing the hurdy-gurdy on in time for the next generation to enjoy.  By then it will probably need a fresh lick of paint and a nice new set of handles, and be ready to entertain yet again.

The origins of the hurdy-gurdy remain a little unknown.  My 90-year-old grandmother recalls her husband bought it for my mother and her siblings when they were young.  By all accounts he bought it from a bloke who we think might have made it himself – it almost looks like it’s been fashioned from parts of a Hills Hoist.  In our lifetimes none of us has ever seen anything quite like it.

And as for where the hurdy-gurdy will end it’s life?  Provided it doesn’t continue to be passed along to countless generations of our family (spending the odd hiatus parked in the corner of the yard neglected), I have always insisted it be donated to a toy museum, where for future generations people will wonder at the strange toy that children from another era found enjoyment with.  Just imagine the stories the hurdy-gurdy could tell?  What great wisdom would it impart to us?  Likely it would say the only thing guaranteed is that the circle of like completes itself time and time again, with all the reliability of a spinning hurdy-gurdy. 🙂

 

Mother of a Man-Child: Pocket Money – Blackmail works! February 18, 2011

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You would recall a few weeks back we decided to try a new approach to pocket-money with the men-children.  Rather than giving them money automatically each week, we moved to a user pays model, whereby they have to ASK for money for a set event, and in return do set jobs to actually EARN the money.  Well readers I am delighted to tell you it worked!!!!

Both of the men-children wanted money the other weekend, so tasks were set.  Apart from insisting their bedrooms were tidied, and various dirty dishes were collected from numerous points about the house, both were given jobs.  Naturally their individual responses and approaches to the tasks were chalk and cheese, just like them.

Man-Child I was asked to hang out a load of washing after cleaning up his bedroom.  He accepted the request without fuss, completed it promptly, finished his room, got his money and left.  Job done, no fuss.

Man-Child II on the other hand complained from the minute the requests started.  I decided since I had the upper hand in the situation that no stone would be left unturned.  Every inch of his room was finally cleaned, and his doona cover was finally put on his doona after three weeks of pleading.   Every wayward glass and plate finally found it’s way to the dishwasher.  And the newly purchased school shorts were not left on the floor in a crumpled heap but folded and put in the cupboard.  Such was the effort to get him to complete the most basic jobs he avoided any extra tasks – I honestly couldn’t bear it any longer.  But he finally got paid, and I finally got a clean bedroom.

Interestingly Man-Child I later asked exactly what his brother had done to earn his money beyond tidying his room, and I muttered something about quite a lot (it’s all relative isn’t it?).

The point is, when they want/need money to fund their weekend entertainment, you’ve got them right where you want them.  I am looking forward to clean bedrooms and a little extra help around the house in the future.  It’s amazing how nice it is when you don’t have to hang out every load of washing yourself.

I got so excited about their new-found abilities, that we’ve also decided it’s time for the men-children to learn to cook, and to prepare a meal for the family once a week.  Helping them gain a life skill, and helping Mother of a Man-Child and Father of a Man-Child have one less night at the stove after a day in the office.  I’m sure there’ll be plenty of tales about their culinary skills (or lack thereof) to follow!