tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86927969405343936352012-02-16T07:14:03.342-08:00I feel very passionately that boys are being failed by our society and are generally expected to behave like girls. When this becomes too hard for them, they are labelled as 'naughty', 'trouble', or even worse. This blog will be about my experiences of having boys, how people react to them when they are 'real boys' and what I think we can change in society to help boys become boys again. Please join with me in my quest to let boys be boys!slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.comBlogger1461100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-43116618218996843062012-02-14T10:41:00.000-08:002012-02-14T10:41:17.042-08:00

Apart from the usual "lean over the table", "use your knife and fork", "sit on your chair properly", "that's enough ketchup, that's enough ketchup, THAT'S ENOUGH KETCHUP!" and "did you actually wash your hands?" comments over mealtimes, we now have a new difficulty to contend with. If you have small boys, you will know that once they start to giggle about something rude, they find it extremely

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-34507939667147345752012-02-08T08:18:00.000-08:002012-02-08T08:18:06.071-08:00

Isn't parenting a funny old thing? Swinging like a monkey in the treetops from one emotion to another, I muddle through each day, wondering how (or when, or if) it is going to end. Take Monday evening, for example. Max was due to go to his piano lesson after tea. Except that after tea, he hit his brother, shouted at me and then told me he wasn't going to his lesson. He sat on the stairs,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-47760838817262967282012-02-03T06:40:00.000-08:002012-02-03T06:40:55.735-08:00

We walk through the door after Jonah's morning at nursery and he gives me his orders: "You can chop up my apple, make me a cracker and a drink and I will see if the chickens have laid any eggs." Sometimes it's like living with a dictator in the house. Of course, I follow his orders to the letter. After a morning at work chasing toddlers around the last thing I want is for him to drop

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-28297950025138620092012-01-30T08:45:00.000-08:002012-01-30T08:45:08.370-08:00

The countdown began on January 1st. 3 months to go until Jared begins his part time job for Best Western (and his salary halves). Without anything else lined up (and no savings at all), the prospect felt daunting and as the grey, cold month of January wore on and we STILL had no answers and nothing substantial booked in I have to admit I started to wonder if we were doing the right thing.

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-29697836895981389982012-01-21T13:01:00.000-08:002012-01-21T13:01:35.325-08:00

No-one said being a parent was easy. They were right. In fact, it's more difficult than any other challenge we could take on in life. Or at least, that's how it feels at the moment. Babies cry. Alot. (Well, mine did. Other people seemed to have perfect babies who only made tiny little whimpers whilst mine were bawling as loudly as a siren that attracts all the attention of those around it,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-15891664093637813602012-01-17T08:14:00.000-08:002012-01-17T08:14:04.406-08:00

Now this is more like it. Collecting Max from school always instills in me a sense of trepidation. Is he going to run out, beaming and excited or is he going to stomp out, stroppy and in a foul mood? Rightly or wrongly, Max's moods often dictate the rest of our afternoon at home which is why today when he skipped out of the door, coat hanging down his back and lunchbag trailing across the

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-84117874970472499972012-01-11T06:44:00.000-08:002012-01-11T06:44:38.774-08:00

Jared started working from home over the Christmas holidays. Positives I can phone through my lunch order so it is ready when I arrive home from work. He can do odd jobs around the house in between phone calls, emails and other work-type activities. He sees the reality of my days. Sometimes he makes me a cup of tea. In the school holidays I could lie in bed later because he didn't have to '

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-26962321928868165152012-01-10T06:38:00.000-08:002012-01-10T06:38:19.597-08:00

I am a big believer in them. For example, this morning as Toby was preparing to leave for school instead of wearing his warm winter coat, he put on a hoody over his school uniform. Me: "Aren't you going to wear a coat today Tobes, it is January still?" Toby: "No Mum, it's not cool to wear a coat. I'll be fine in this." Me (swallowing all the words that have risen to the tip of my tongue

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-35343220131835381512012-01-05T08:29:00.000-08:002012-01-05T10:42:03.603-08:00

.....The parents whose children become child prodigies? The parents who manage to potty train their 1 year old? The Mother whose baby sleeps through the night at a week old? The parents of children who take their GCSE's at the age of ten? The Father who yells so loudly on the sidelines of the football pitch that his son has no option but to play to his best? The family who buy the most

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-32471955484537853222012-01-03T03:55:00.000-08:002012-01-03T03:55:42.494-08:00

One of the highlights of my Christmas holidays was the positive remark from an elderly gentleman on a bus. Let me set the scene.... We had spent 2 days cooped up (and now I have chickens, I know the true meaning of the word 'cooped') at Grandma and Grandad's house. The boys were becoming as violent as battery hens needing escape. They had been filled with chocolate and sweets and had nowhere

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-84795083531624311922012-01-01T04:33:00.000-08:002012-01-01T04:33:20.948-08:00

It's not really in my nature, change. I like the comfortable, reassuring sameness of the known. Despite the fact that I endorse adventure for my family, my own nature is to shy away from it. It scares me and I hate the feeling of not knowing what is going to happen. I am a planner by nature, and spontaneity is to be avoided at all costs. So, it is with enormous feelings of trepidation that I

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-52829410496235110602011-12-20T13:42:00.000-08:002011-12-20T13:42:40.268-08:00

I wrote this short 'read aloud' version of the Christmas story last year and we used it on Christmas Day with our boys to get them thinking... “Mary, Mary” the angel whispered. Mary looked around her and then fell backwards in fright. “Who are you?” She whimpered. “I am Gabriel and I have come from God's presence to you. I have brought you a message. You are going to have a baby. He will be the

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-47437903179518637642011-12-14T05:17:00.000-08:002011-12-14T05:17:54.119-08:00

We're all feeling it. "End of term-itis" mixed with the dark evenings and pitch black 'middle of the night' mornings produces feelings of weariness and fatigue. This term has been a long, drawn out one, and now the end is in sight we are all longing for it (even though, on the first day of the holidays I'll be wishing they were back at school). The boys are exhausted and we are having to wake

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-48858654379730686102011-12-02T06:18:00.001-08:002011-12-02T06:36:43.230-08:00

Today has been one of those 'bad mother' days again. We all have them, sometimes more often than we would like! Here are some of my failures to make you giggle, sympathise or both.... 1. I tried to be a good mother, I really did, and made Max an Egyptian Costume for his Egyptian Day today. Unfortunately, my excitement probably pushed him into wearing more than he would have liked, and he

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-32584803138337408072011-12-01T04:05:00.001-08:002011-12-01T04:17:39.838-08:00

Wow. What an interesting week this has been. Whilst half the population of the UK were fighting the injustices of the latest government cuts, the other half were worrying about their own futures. Mostly, I have refrained from unleashing my opinions about it all. However, I would like to throw one more, perhaps rather outlandish in today's culture, ingredient into the mix. "If you decide for

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-46771971205480427992011-11-24T01:49:00.000-08:002011-11-24T01:49:50.817-08:00

My middle son, Max, actually does live on another planet. If you asked him about it, he would go into great detail about the culture, language, food and inhabitants of planet Flot. At 7 years old, he sometimes comes back to earth with a bump but usually his brain is on a far higher plane than whether he has remembered to put his jumper on the right way round or not. Not that we are supposed to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-5270280830828235212011-11-20T05:34:00.001-08:002011-11-21T06:18:12.311-08:00

I have 3 boys. No girls, just boys. My home is littered with plastic soldiers, drumkits, lego and dinosaurs. We have no Disney Princess dvd's but a plethora of Star Wars, X Men, Peter Pan and (my personal favourite) Inspector Gadget. Camo clothes cover my radiators and (the perfect phrase coined by the mother in Outnumbered) a wee tsunami covers my bathroom floor. We don't eat pretty pink

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-72176011428374166712011-11-03T14:17:00.000-07:002011-11-03T14:17:33.280-07:00

In our blame-ridden, compensation-driven culture, it is hard to teach our children (and even ourselves) to take responsibility for their own actions. This week our family have been thinking about this very wise saying: "Do for other people the same things you want them to do for you." It is, of course, more fun if you say it in a Yoda voice but the original version was by Jesus. So often we

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-82427922984182498652011-10-27T04:57:00.000-07:002011-10-27T04:57:28.841-07:00

Standards have seriously dropped around here. Half term began with good intentions on my part - limited screen time, board games and other family activities to enjoy, autumn walks, biscuit making....... Perhaps I set my sights too high, but by Wednesday those intentions were all but forgotten and survival was my only goal. Having a nasty cold that has set it's hindering heaviness into my head

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-15956322283845364032011-10-23T02:41:00.000-07:002011-10-23T02:41:17.275-07:00

Sometimes I am plagued with questions. Not the "Did you know that in Australia people have to walk on their heads?" type of questions or the "Why is poo brown?" questions. Not even the "Will I manage to get 2 loads of washing dry in one day?" questions. No, these are questions of a far more serious nature. On occasion I am overcome with questions such as these: How do we know we are doing

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-90657640442621531632011-10-21T11:15:00.000-07:002011-10-21T11:15:36.407-07:00

Friday, oh Friday. This day has taken on different meanings over the last few years. Before we had children, Fridays were a day of celebration. The weekend had arrived and it was time to rest and have fun. As soon as Toby was born, weekends dissolved into the rest of the continuous, monotonous, sleep deprived, bleary eyed week. Weekends were no different to the rest of the week, and lie-ins

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-62297108064821050562011-10-12T06:49:00.000-07:002011-10-12T06:49:23.784-07:00

We are about to embark upon the biggest adventure our family has yet experienced. No, not even the scary jet boat ride we did last summer can compare to this one (although I did scream ALOT and shouted at the boys to hold on, much to their amusement). In April next year, Jared's yearly salary will halve as he works part time in his current job and begins to build up Outdoors Unlocked, our

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-53686984580988871132011-10-03T11:22:00.000-07:002011-10-03T11:22:23.356-07:00

After rushing around for the whole day, cleaning, picking up dirty odd socks, playing with duplo (not on my own) not to mention the 3 school runs I am doing each day now, I look forward to the evening family meal as a moment to sit down, enjoy civilised, peaceful conversation about everyone's days and be revitalised by good food and good company. The disappointment sets in when I bellow my "

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-88801818418188064172011-09-29T02:57:00.000-07:002011-09-29T02:58:51.707-07:00

"Mum! There is a pheasant eating a bloody bird in our garden!", the excited voice greeted me as I ventured downstairs this morning. During the night a cat (possibly ours) had butchered an innocent bird and left the feathers and entrails in our garden. By the time I looked out the window, the mystery 'pheasant' had vanished. The boys were so excited, it took all of my strength and will to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-9219599123082847312011-09-14T08:50:00.000-07:002011-09-14T08:51:53.039-07:00

Forgive me for being controversial (is this becoming a habit?) but I have noticed a new trend which I am altogether not sure about. Unlike the latest Blackberry or newest colour of Birkenstocks, this trend, as far I can see, can have extremely damaging and lifelong consequences. I am aware that this blog post will cause ripples, and for that I am prepared. Seeping in from who knows where, I

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-11677297215709255782011-09-09T13:13:00.000-07:002011-09-10T01:35:41.033-07:00

Every week brings with it highs and lows, here are a few highs and lows from our first week back into routine.... Highs On Thursday morning, I enjoyed a blissful morning of peace. Of course, there were seven week's worth of jobs to be done, but I was able to complete them without the 'help' of lots of other little hands (and voices). Actually, I did not complete them all. I almost completed

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-91981800082978721622011-09-06T11:47:00.000-07:002011-09-06T13:35:56.386-07:00

The holidays are over. We have just experienced the first summer holidays without a toddler or baby in tow and, as much as toddlers and babies are cute and everything, it was fantastic. We actually had lie-ins (until 7:45, but when you have spent years getting up between 5 and 6am, that really is a lie-in) and going out is so much easier without all the (un)necessary paraphernalia. I even

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-60493819196663796782011-08-29T08:34:00.000-07:002011-08-29T08:54:00.865-07:00

What is it about boys that is so unsavoury? Why are girls made of all things nice and boys made of horrid, yucky things? More importantly, why does our society actually believe that old wives tale? Having been camping for a week in a field where my boys could swing like monkeys on rope and tyre swings, play on a 'lost island', climb trees, make as much noise as they liked and play with fire,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-19394399597069052282011-08-17T11:59:00.000-07:002011-08-17T12:24:28.421-07:00

As you might have realised by now, we have no girls in our house other than me. How, then, will my boys learn to become gentlemen if they have no-one to practice on? How will they know that girls don't actually like to do armpit farts (well, some do) or want to play wrestling (again, some do)? Who will teach them those good old fashioned gentlemanly manners that are so prized and make a girl feel

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-76906986752608092322011-08-13T03:44:00.000-07:002011-08-13T04:16:06.285-07:00

Yesterday will be circled in my calendar for two small, but important, parenting victories. Last week was football club week. Unbeknown to the boys, they are learning far more than football when they attend these clubs. Whilst the competition is extreme and exciting, the coaches also look out for good teamwork, good attitude, obedience and co-operation. Encouragement of others in the team is

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-14261208397510295332011-08-10T12:28:00.000-07:002011-08-10T12:34:27.737-07:00

The answer is far more deep rooted than politics or economics. Our country has turned it's back on God. Children are no longer taught the basic morals found in the Bible. Conscience no longer exists. This is not new. The following excerpt was written 2000 years ago. "Since they thought it foolish to acknowledge God, he abandoned them to their foolish thinking and let them do things that

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-7307986880661380512011-08-09T01:20:00.000-07:002011-08-09T01:44:54.521-07:00

As I wake up this morning to yet more images of destruction on my screen, my heart is grieved. Yes, for the people who have lost their businesses and livelihoods. Yes, for the communities who have lost their souls. Mostly though, I ache for those young men and women who have caused this horrific, rampant devastation. I know that not many will agree with me, and most will feel anger towards them.

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-66213502226624389472011-08-07T12:59:00.000-07:002011-08-07T13:22:53.241-07:00

....they're better!I NEVER EVER thought it would happen. Small children plus holidays always felt like doing the same things just in a different place, without all the usual creature comforts. It was often more stressful than being at home, and we had several holidays when the boys were small where we just gave up and came home!This year, all that has changed. No longer in the 'small children'

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-74116538937822511582011-07-28T02:11:00.001-07:002011-07-28T02:26:37.974-07:00

The summer holidays have finally dawned their long awaited, but soon to be hated, heads. Three tired boys who desperately needed to some off have argued and fought their way through this first week so far. Crazily, I have created a rule about screen time (which can change at my discretion) although when I explained this rule to Toby he declared that I had "ruined his holidays". Wow. I didn't

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-64683874490665046492011-07-21T13:32:00.000-07:002011-07-21T13:59:41.682-07:00

When our boys were babies, we dedicated them to God. Although this might mean different things to different parents, in my mind I was giving them to God, for Him to do with as He chose. Whilst I took it seriously and was careful to make sure I meant what I was promising, I didn't find it especially emotional. Actually, I thought I had this 'letting go' business all wrapped up. Little did I know..

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-19285813212631947172011-07-18T01:12:00.000-07:002011-07-18T01:26:05.617-07:00

Mr Nobody strikes again.Somehow, the toothpaste has been liberally smeared all over the bathroom floor, walls, the bath, the sink and the toilet. Apart from the waste of toothpaste (which I have to admit, does REALLY annoy me), it takes alot of clearing up. Jared called together all the suspects and pointed to the crime scene. "Who smeared this toothpaste everywhere?"Looking at him with their

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-66299444490251391572011-07-15T10:48:00.000-07:002011-07-15T11:21:42.562-07:00

I had a small revelation the other day whilst attempting to bake some cakes instead of buying them. Carefully arranging the boys in front of the television, I snuck out of the lounge and into the kitchen in the desperate hope that they would not follow me and want to help. Unfortunately, Jonah's ever watchful eyes did follow me and he was soon behind me carrying the little stool (This stool is

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-57429580604726048302011-07-11T04:06:00.001-07:002011-07-11T04:32:34.858-07:00

I have had a bit of a history with home visits from the school. It's always a good idea when you sign up for it. How great for the teachers to meet the child in their own home. How special it is for the child to have their teacher actually come to their house! Signing up for it the first time round, I had Toby aged 3 and Max aged 1. When the day finally arrived for the teachers to cross over

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-66289691105234514472011-07-05T01:26:00.000-07:002011-07-05T01:57:22.237-07:00

Does anyone else out there have mornings like mine? Sometimes I think I may as well just play a tape of myself saying the same things over and over again each morning.It all began with Max, who is sensitive in the mornings anyway, crying because Jonah had screamed in his ear to wake him up. A good start, I thought to myself. He then slowly hauled himself out of bed and wanted me to dress him (

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-78306894221453853902011-06-27T03:49:00.000-07:002011-06-27T07:51:23.563-07:00

.... That's what school is for my lovely Max. Existing in his own alternative universe, Max does not quite fit into the box that school tries to squeeze him into. He is funny, intelligent, curious, creative, inventive, logical (although his logic is often different to mine) and passionate. School has always been something to tolerate and he has never quite fitted in to the system. Of course

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-73724278524042802822011-06-19T03:22:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:55:31.907-07:00

"He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it" writes the American writer Clarence Budington Kelland.It was 2:30am and I heard the telltale thud of footsteps heading towards our bedroom. The door banged open and in ran 3 year old Jonah - well trained to run straight round to Jared's side of the bed. "I'm scared", he cried. Without a word, Jared took him in his arms and

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-34317287767949871122011-06-12T11:54:00.000-07:002011-06-12T12:27:33.874-07:00

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.But not all day. Please. As much as we embrace most weather conditions, there are some days when I just do not want to get wet and cold. Today was one of those days. The rain cascaded continuously from the sky like a trapping torrent. Trapping, because it meant we were imprisoned indoors with 3 boys who really do climb the walls if they are not

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-54092676974282441082011-06-07T03:41:00.001-07:002011-06-07T04:01:59.844-07:00

There are occasions when I look at my boys and wonder if it will ever happen?Will they ever realise that burp talking and armpit farting at the table is not actually that funny? Will they ever stop giggling at the words "boobies" and "willies" or will they just stifle their sniggers? Will they ever walk down the path instead of running? Will they one day walk past a pigeon without giving in to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-12453496012229613042011-06-03T07:24:00.000-07:002011-06-03T07:44:56.985-07:00

Not only is it Friday, but it is also the last day of the half term holidays which means my standards have dropped horribly lower than before. I am glad though, that I can have failures. No smug mummying for me. Their project through the whole of their childhood (and possibly more, who knows?) is to increase my humility. How can I possibly be smug when even as babies they never followed what the

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-42979576646534922932011-05-31T03:53:00.000-07:002011-05-31T04:07:21.971-07:00

Half term begins with noise levels equivalent to standing at the front of a very loud concert. At least, that's how it feels to me. Is it because my boys are boys that they feel the need to shout instead of talk, or do girls do this too? Is it just because of their personalities (can't think who they might get their loudness from) or are all boys more prone to the louder end of the volume scale?

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-27410923190597970112011-05-20T06:39:00.000-07:002011-05-20T06:57:08.846-07:00

This week has been a long week. My first week back into normal life after having my operation. Friday has finally arrived and I am very tired. Sometimes, parenting standards just cannot be kept high and in those moments we find ourselves giggling at each other as we do and say things that would most definitely be frowned upon by Supernanny! Fridays are particularly prone to this type of parenting

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-86746626395136968772011-05-18T05:38:00.000-07:002011-05-18T05:58:02.567-07:00

With great excitement, my little sister and I would trawl around the Travel Agents of Horsham, collecting travel brochures and pretending we were going on holiday. Once collected, we would take them all home and set up our very own Travel Agents in our bedroom. I loved the thrill of collecting the brochures and making sure we had a good range of different countries and types of holidays for our

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-50898674147391649402011-05-14T12:15:00.000-07:002011-05-14T12:48:51.706-07:00

Gazing up at the big perm, the trendy 80's clothes and the soft silvery pink lipstick, the arrival of my big brother's new girlfriend brought a new hero into my life. At 9 years old, I was in awe of her and wanted to be just like her. Children need heroes. They need role models and they need healthy relationships with adults other than their parents. I have been reminded of this today as our

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-6337763256912443592011-05-07T02:47:00.000-07:002011-05-07T03:08:57.763-07:00

Having recently had an operation and being unable to clean the house it has quickly resembled a landfill site. Piles of the boy's drawings, pens without lids littering the floor, corners full of dust balls, letters scattered in different places, duplo towers towering the heights, empty dvd cases lying in wait, not to mention the state of the toilet. It's up to you if you want to use your

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-56162438181792833302011-04-02T03:28:00.000-07:002011-04-02T06:14:57.358-07:00

At what other time in the year are boys expected to dress up in pretty, flowery garments and proudly parade around their creations? Why is Easter Bonnet-making such an important part of Easter? Why do we encourage our boys to be manly, masculine, power ranging, sword wielding creatures for most of the time and then suddenly, at Easter, they have to forget all their boyish preferences and

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-63291524441970967222011-02-03T08:06:00.000-08:002011-02-03T08:23:39.868-08:00

Definitely. Especially when they are going to embarrass you. Until he opens his mouth, Jonah looks like the perfect little angelic 3 year old. His blonde hair and sky blue eyes are enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. Until he opens his mouth, that is.Walking home from school this afternoon, (whilst listening to 3 sets of the day's news, stopping one boy from running into the road,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-10784814870559431212011-01-24T02:54:00.001-08:002011-01-24T03:16:38.228-08:00

In attempt to curb some of the unruly and downright selfish behaviour, we have been looking at the fruit of the spirit with our boys. I will not go into enormous detail here for those who are unfamiliar, but the bible passage is:"But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control; against such things there is no law."

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-33663634259651387062011-01-01T09:46:00.000-08:002011-01-01T10:10:47.621-08:00

We were sitting around a dinner table with friends, playing that classic game "Knowing Me, Knowing You" and I had to answer the question "The bravest thing I have ever done is.......". Other people, guessing what my answer might be, offered such things as "marrying Jared "(well, that was brave, I don't deny it) or "speaking to the headteacher" (on a par with the first suggestion in bravery terms

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-29454182027113963312010-12-30T13:48:00.000-08:002010-12-30T14:00:43.109-08:00

I am married to a man who loves goals. Thrives on them. He loves making his little (or long) lists and tick boxes, and now Toby is the same.I, however, am quite the opposite. I hate new years resolutions, and I hate the fact that people make goals at this time of year., motivated by guilt. So, here are my reasons why I don't set any new years resolutions. They are often motivated by guilt,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-80904504689270880562010-12-22T07:49:00.000-08:002010-12-22T08:19:07.280-08:00

The snow continues. Last night we realised that we had spent 4 days waiting for something to happen, instead of making it happen ourselves. We were frustrated that we had not achieved anything we'd had planned for the holidays, and hadn't had any time in between refereeing to even finish a conversation. So, ever the survivalist (and I don't think even Bear Grylls himself would survive days on

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-50389265522214899572010-12-19T06:35:00.000-08:002010-12-19T06:51:05.820-08:00

Snow. Snow on snow on snow. It looks magical, spreading its white glow across towns and countrysides, creating the illusion of purity. Purity, however, is far from the thoughts of my boys who are cooped up the week before Christmas when their hyperactivity levels are at their highest. We cannot drive our car - we tried yesterday and had to be pushed back up the hill by two angelic men (well,

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-16494539118101628272010-12-17T01:19:00.001-08:002010-12-17T02:35:03.849-08:00

Some of you will already know that my very own Bear Grylls of a husband is attempting to set up his own business promoting, teaching and training Forest School and Bushcraft skills to anyone and everyone, but particularly in schools. Today he has an interview with some people who very kindly give out money to worthwhile causes.The trouble is, we have to convince them that it is worthwhile. If I

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-13174058367786190042010-12-14T08:52:00.000-08:002010-12-14T09:04:20.084-08:00

The conversation I had with Jonah whilst wiping his bottom this afternoon sums up the whole day:Me: "Sorry, I haven't been a very good Mummy today Jonah."Jonah: "No, but Daddy is."Today has been 'one of those days'. How do we diagnose a 'bad mother day'? What are the signs and symptoms you would discover if you googled it?1. Instead of making an adventure and experience of going to Tescos, I

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-47083671098637676482010-12-12T01:39:00.000-08:002010-12-12T01:58:05.495-08:00

I am writing amidst the chaos of helicopters being thrown at heads, backflips off bunkbeds and general tarzan-like behaviour (and that's just Jared...). Apologies if this doesn't make alot of sense, but amongst the bedlam I am trying to find calm.I have a job. This has not quite sunk in yet, There are so many levels on which I would like to write about the fact that I have a job, and I expect

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-55634094017515823952010-12-05T12:17:00.000-08:002010-12-05T12:35:20.566-08:00

Poor little Jonah. Not only have we seen everything he throws at us before, but instead of getting flustered and panicking, we just catch it and smile at him.His latest phase will be well known to all parents who have any children over the age of 2. The "I am not going to stay in bed because I have extremely important things to tell you which I will think of as soon as I get out of bed and see

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-54244307840688470052010-11-29T12:50:00.001-08:002010-11-29T13:21:06.442-08:00

Forgive my old lady-esque blog, but I cannot let this by without comment. I may well come across as old fashioned as the' tights, court shoe and winter coat bedecked lady' who sits on the deckchairs at the beach in summertime, but I cannot help but interject at this point in the year.Christmas. The clue is in the title. Yet it is so often missed. Oooh yes, we all love to listen to children

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-4222758667835294532010-11-23T05:35:00.000-08:002010-11-23T05:53:10.152-08:00

"I got there first.""No, I did.""I want to sit there.""Well, I'm sitting there.""Well you are a pooface then." (thump, spit)"Well you are a bumhead." (kick, slap)"Idiot fool" (harder thump)"MUUUUUM!!!!"Sound familiar? I hope it does and that I am not the only one who has children who fight over one tiny spot on the sofa when there are at least 5 other seating options in the room. Why do they do

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-38008703132654396552010-11-19T05:12:00.001-08:002010-11-19T05:46:31.508-08:00

Just when you think you are safe, that old enemy called Pride creeps up on again to stick his leg out in front of you and trip you up. Smack! You fall with a crash landing and realise what has happened, while Pride sniggers to himself and skitters away back into the shadows.We all know that old proverb (Proverbs 16 v 18) "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before stumbling" but how

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-39558029485014609832010-11-14T06:48:00.000-08:002010-11-14T07:18:19.815-08:00

Having analysed the 'tweenage phenomenon' that has made it's surprise visit to our family recently, I have been pondering on the next 'letting go' phase of Toby's life.All parenthood, from birth until leaving home, is 'letting go'. We cuddle our babies, until eventually they have to sleep on their own. We war through the 'terrible twos', sometimes not realising this is all part of the child's

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-29171444188750903612010-11-09T06:22:00.000-08:002010-11-09T06:49:00.860-08:00

Unbeknown to me, two Americanisms have quietly crept into my title today. The first being the word 'phenomenon'. Is it just me, or does everyone else have to say it with an American accent too? The second is far more complex in nature. The mystery of the 'tweenager'. Having never been a tweenager (they did not exist when I was younger, we were just normal children), it has arrived in our

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-49883151461366574142010-08-04T11:21:00.000-07:002010-08-04T11:34:46.632-07:00

Yes... there are 4 more weeks to go of the Summer Holidays and the enticing thought of the freedom of September beckons.Whilst we are in the middle of the long walk, I found this quote hugely encouraging and thought I would share it on here. The author is writing about the cost of investing in parenting versus the benefits. I could not write it more succinctly or cleverly, so am just going to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-30836488840862952462010-06-18T07:44:00.000-07:002010-06-18T08:03:19.428-07:00

We have now entered the world of no naps in the daytime. Always dreaded and never convenient when it arrives, it is a rite of passage that every toddler and mother will pass through. Oh, how I miss my 1 1/2 hour daily time to myself! But enough wallowing..... and onto more practical matters.Having spent more time with Jonah over the last 2 weeks, I have actually discovered that I have a real

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-85966760658257482522010-06-10T02:28:00.000-07:002010-06-10T08:20:46.153-07:00

I am very blessed (I do find that word incredibly cheesy, but sometimes no other word will do. "Fortunate" isn't the truth, nor is "lucky", so "blessed" will have to suffice.) to have some incredible friends. Not only are they friends who I can have a good giggle with and be myself with, but they are friends who walk with me through every step of my journey in life.A true friend is one who

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-89918835897123515132010-06-02T00:56:00.000-07:002010-06-02T01:09:33.493-07:00

A very wise King, who had a good deal of children, once wrote:"It is better to eat a dry crust of bread in peace than to have a feast where there is quarrelling."Proverbs 17 v 1 Our lovely family mealtimes have recently transformed into a stage where the boys compete to be the funniest, say the rudest words, have the most food, have the ketchup / honey / brown sauce / mayonnaise first, be the

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-66422647013186971182010-05-27T01:50:00.000-07:002010-05-27T02:23:28.865-07:00

Perhaps this is fuelled by my underlying laziness, but I strongly believe that a family should be a team. No one person should do all the household jobs to keep everything tickity-boo. Everyone needs to play their part in making the house and family run smoothly. Like every other family (or are we really the only ones?) we go through phases of doling out jobs to our boys and phases of just

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-23564741035326863592010-05-22T01:19:00.000-07:002010-05-22T01:36:53.629-07:00

Frog catching season has begun again in earnest. The hunter / gatherer instinct has kicked in, although thankfully we will not have to eat the catch. I know, for some, this may seem strange or even cruel, but actually this activity has unseen benefits for our boys. (And, from what Jared tells me, this is nowhere near as cruel as the things he used to do to frogs when he was younger.... Come on

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-59566121278796299112010-05-06T02:02:00.000-07:002010-05-06T05:07:17.814-07:00

My days have been so filled with mud, den-making, fires, filling hungry boy's stomachs, Electricity birthday parties (don't ask) and a busy-ness of life that I have not had alot of time to write recently. I have missed it. It does not even matter to me whether anyone reads my ramblings or not (go on... now is your opportunity to delete me from your list...), there is something in me that needs

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-64418106428824814532010-03-23T08:49:00.001-07:002010-03-23T09:08:12.746-07:00

I had a moment of revelation yesterday. It doesn't happen too often so when it does I have to make the most of it. The noise levels in our house and hideously high. We shout conversations from room to room, and often I have to shout to be heard above the bedlam. I am not (well, not often) shouting at them angrily, but because they make so much noise I shout to be heard.You may think this is

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-5631122770363156372010-03-17T12:28:00.001-07:002010-03-17T12:45:43.127-07:00

Parent's Evening. It fills me with dread. I know it is irrational, but it feels like an appraisal of my mothering skills (or lack of). This is what I expect them to say:"Your son can't read because you don't do enough reading with him at home.""Your son is so unbelievably disobedient.""Your son cannot concentrate on anything.""Your son is violent.""Your son just does not listen.".....the list

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-81106249327632141002010-03-06T01:51:00.000-08:002010-03-06T02:14:15.026-08:00

.... is that they can be totally misunderstood. Even if you make it as clear as a mountain spring, you will still be misunderstood. Blogs are read by people who do not know me, do not know how I react to life on a day to day basis, might not know my values or the lessons I have learnt in life. I welcome other people's opinions, even if they are different to my own, but what I find hard is when

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-36847145862987535952010-02-28T10:10:00.001-08:002010-02-28T10:15:33.802-08:00

Here is a list of the 'insults' that frequent our home. Why boys find these so amusing I will never understand, but amusing they find them. You may find a theme occurring. Feel free to add to my list the (harmless) insults that are thrown around your boy-full home.Poo poo stinky face fat facePoo poo alien headStink faceBooby faceYou stink of pooWee wee headStinky poo poo headHog faceBog

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-47080232714514366792010-02-25T08:50:00.000-08:002010-02-25T09:07:26.583-08:00

This blog is the opinion of the author and no offence is intended to anyone living differently to me..... but I have to be honest and real..... so here goes....As a mum who has chosen to stay at home with my children, I go through different phases of being incredibly content to stay at home and watch my boys grow up, knowing that I am blessed to be in such a position and phases of being totally

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-75613131575035653982010-02-22T08:44:00.000-08:002010-02-22T09:01:01.684-08:00

Guns. The great debate. Should little boys be allowed to play with toy guns? I have to admit that when Toby was younger I was very anti-guns and tried extremely hard not to let him have any or play with any. Everything inside of me screamed out (and still does) that gun play was a violent game that was totally inappropriate for children to play. "Don't they realise how devastating a real gun

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-12220261366893425052010-02-17T12:39:00.000-08:002010-02-17T13:17:22.417-08:00

Why do little boys love to be with big boys? Are they learning how to be 'big'? This half term we have had the pleasure of visiting our Southern Element. Well, once we arrived it was pleasurable but as always, long journeys with 3 boys squished into the back of the car needing the toilet or another book / biscuit / sweet / drink are not even mildly enjoyable (torturous was the word that sprang

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-36164242103263746742010-02-12T08:24:00.000-08:002010-02-12T10:13:18.747-08:00

My house resembles a campsite. Every room that I enter has a homemade tent set up in it, which I am not allowed to dismantle even though I have to squeeze onto the very edge of the sofa to sit down because the rest of it is part of the tent.Don't get me wrong, I am all for creative and imaginative play but this is taking it to the extreme. Every single cushion, blanket, chair, chair cover, table

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-14543554559813878062010-02-09T08:11:00.000-08:002010-02-09T08:27:10.478-08:00

Jared has been away for 2 nights and 2 days at his annual conference for work. They all dress up in DJ's and posh dresses, drink copious amounts of wine and eat ridiculously tiny portions of gourmet food whilst I, to make things easy, eat fish fingers and smiley faces, wear clothes covered in snot and dribble and barely have time to brush may hair. No, of course I'm not jealous........Although

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-9886560565228564452010-02-04T10:23:00.001-08:002010-02-04T10:39:52.540-08:00

What is it with boys and toilets that makes them totally incompatible? Is it because somehow needing to wee takes them back to their caveman roots where they didn't have to aim but could just let it flow freely into a bush or the dark recesses of a cave?It makes no difference how often I clean the toilet, at the end of every evening there is wee all over the floor, the walls and the skirting

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-82835828750582340892010-01-30T10:06:00.000-08:002010-01-30T10:29:17.642-08:00

It has struck me again recently that boys get such bad press, and really, sometimes they are just doing what boys do. Boys are : Noisy Sometimes boisterous Full of energy Sometimes heavy handed ("I only touched it, and it just came off in my hand.") In need of a pecking order Sometimes difficult to contain

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-70816045926096621242010-01-26T05:53:00.001-08:002010-01-26T08:23:29.620-08:00

Every Tuesday morning I have the privilege of taking Jonah to Rhythm Time - a music class for toddlers where, under the pretence of benefiting our children, we sing and perform silly songs, play instruments and generally do ridiculous things usually while our children stare open mouthed at us, with dribble dripping down their chins.The strangest part of the morning is the Rhythm Patterns section.

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-45342680867214397372010-01-21T12:00:00.000-08:002010-01-21T12:27:39.860-08:00

At the risk of sounding like a full blown rant or an old lady, I need to explain a small incident that happened to me today. Having a child-free morning I decided to visit the library. I love libraries and I especially love to go without any children who will pull the books off the shelves, run around hiding between the bookshelves and talking loudly on purpose. It is a treat and one which I

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-32816490824594498552010-01-13T05:22:00.000-08:002010-01-13T05:32:17.618-08:00

Here we are again with yet another Snow Day. I wonder if our country will ever get used to the idea that we might actually be able to function with snow on the ground. Last week, when the school re-opened, I tried that good old tactic of praising them for doing something good in the hope that they might not do something bad again. I emailed the headteacher and told them how grateful we were

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-40126576073071073922010-01-09T01:22:00.000-08:002010-01-09T01:33:28.130-08:00

What a fantastic idea, which I unfortunately did not think up! My big sister, who also has 2 boys, told me of this brainwave yesterday which we have decided to implement today. Act of Kindness Day which must be said in the X Factor voice will encourage inherently selfish children (which mine are) to think about other people.How to do it:Step 1: Everyone write down their name and put it in a

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-86073167571461773642010-01-05T06:33:00.000-08:002010-01-05T06:46:34.324-08:00

The title sums up exactly how I am feeling today. Having had my boys off school for 2 and a half weeks I sent them back in this morning with glee. The fighting, arguing and tale telling had become unbearable and they needed to be somewhere other than near me! As we walked to school, however, the sky went ominously purple and then small balls of white fluff started falling from the sky. "It's

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-28836784336154512332010-01-03T02:25:00.000-08:002010-01-03T02:53:40.984-08:00

Excitement and gluttonous waste of Christmas is over. Don't get me wrong, it was lovely. We enjoyed our house being full of the people we love. Despite having what felt like billions of people here, we have actually had the most chilled school holidays in our family history with the 2 biggest boys waking up after 8am most days. This is unheard of in our house, and it has been good for them to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-28597564026172436652009-12-22T08:19:00.000-08:002009-12-22T08:35:47.424-08:00

We are now allowed to be close to Christmas. I have done all my shopping, wrapped all the presents, organised the food for the hordes who are descending on us (lovely hordes, but still hordes!) and now we just have to wait.And wait. And wait. And wait.So what do we do with all the waiting? We tire out the boys as much as possible, and we rearrange their bedrooms! After all, we have nothing

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-76746125404862409902009-12-18T10:17:00.000-08:002009-12-18T10:31:37.408-08:00

Am I missing something or did teachers get so many presents when I was little? Did I just not notice my mum buying presents for my teachers? Or did she not buy them but everyone else's mum did?Now I know teachers do a sterling job (well, some do anyway...) but I don't quite understand the necessity for the competitive nature of present buying for teachers. Some people play it safe and stick to

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-75300496793594869292009-12-17T03:56:00.000-08:002009-12-17T04:07:43.806-08:00

Illness (mine), coupled with the usual round of Christmas parties / plays / concerts / shopping has meant that I have been slightly lax in updating my blog. These last 2 weeks of term are so unbearably busy. Do the children honestly need any more parties and hyping up? I think not. But it doesn't matter what I think, all the silliness goes ahead anyway!The potty training experiment has gone

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-31345281826839880042009-12-08T11:52:00.001-08:002009-12-08T12:07:55.671-08:00

Today I stumbled upon potty training. I use the word stumbled because that is what actually happened. For the past few weeks Jonah has been asking to go to the toilet and I have been desperately trying to ignore his pleas. I am not ready for this. It is so much easier to put a nappy on a child than to have to take spare clothes everywhere and constantly ask them if they need a wee. Then

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-87347987724130522602009-12-05T07:44:00.000-08:002009-12-05T07:58:39.163-08:00

Call me old fashioned, but I like to get Christmas cards that actually show what Christmas is all about. However, I have now been in 3 shops ( which with an escapee toddler in tow is about my limit ) and have so far found cards decorated with snowmen, christmas trees, Father Christmases, wintry scenes, presents, snowflakes, stockings and even a gingerbread man but no Jesus, Mary, 3 Kings or

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-51954113941606588732009-12-01T12:14:00.000-08:002009-12-01T12:42:53.732-08:00

This week Jared is away for the week. He does usually go away for a night at a time, but only a couple of times a year does he do more than that. It is always a strange time when he is away. Strange because life, in a way, becomes much simpler. I don't spend hours in the kitchen creating magical concoctions for them to eat for dinner. We don't have to find any babysitters because neither of

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-81027296375194629882009-11-26T05:34:00.000-08:002009-11-26T05:58:52.815-08:00

I don't know about you, but I get quite fed up (surprise surprise) about ridiculous images of Jesus. Especially heading towards Christmas and Easter we get these pictures on cards of Jesus with a warm yellow glow around his head, and with perfectly straightened blonde hair that a teenage girl would be proud of, doeful looking eyes and wearing a spotless white dress. Some of our christmas carols

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-3707519431193202962009-11-23T06:24:00.000-08:002009-11-23T07:51:47.144-08:00

I apologise for my slowness in updating, but I have been dying (well, if I was a man I would have been...) of a cold since last Thursday so my brain power has been rather reduced.My very brave and heroic husband phoned the head teacher ( they are FAR too scary for words) and made an appointment for me to see the class teacher after school last Thursday. I was so nervous, not wanting to come

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-48096364780646923302009-11-17T05:58:00.001-08:002009-11-17T06:16:12.451-08:00

Come on all you who have older children than me, I need some of your wisdom and experience.....Max is 5. Ever since going into year 1 in September (and don't get me started on my feelings about year 1...) he has been saying he hasn't got any friends and that at playtimes he sits all on his own on a cold log getting a cold bottom (can you hear the violins?). Every time I speak to the teacher

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-78032843593904613152009-11-13T12:41:00.000-08:002009-11-13T12:51:51.849-08:00

Why do boys (and grown men, come to think of it) seem to have the ability to turn deafness on whenever the need arises? Here is my conversation at bedtime with Toby, who was reading the Guinness Book of Records at the same time....Me: "Toby, go and clean your teeth please."Toby: "The oldest Dad in the world is 92."Me: "Toby, please can you go and do your teeth?"Toby: "And the oldest person in

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8692796940534393635.post-57091423521477354502009-11-12T04:13:00.000-08:002009-11-12T04:26:58.650-08:00

Does anyone out there know about these strange men who prance around our screens, singing irritating songs with an octopus and a dinosaur? Unfortunately I do.And unfortunately for me, I introduced my nephew to them about 5 years ago. Unfortunately for my sister, he became rather obsessed with The Wiggles. So much so, that my sister could not bear to ever see those inane grins and colourful

slave2boyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09445403279836114433noreply@blogger.com1