From Baby to Boy

I write a lot about our life in respect of my eldest sons disability.  How it has an effect on us as a family.  How I cope, or more to the point, sometimes don't cope with the curve balls it sends our way.  But I also have another son, a younger son, who is four and perfectly healthy.

He is a very demanding little character, some days too much.  Other days he is so adorable and lovely I wonder - Why he can't be like that all the time? 

 

Don't we all though hey?

I am glad we have reached the age of four.  Both him and I relatively unscathed.  If somewhat a little hoarser from all the required raising of voice to get any acknowledgement that I need him to either bath; get dressed; brush his teeth; tidy his toys up; eat his dinner; not pull everything out of the drawer because the angry birds t-shirt is clearly already laid out on the bed. 

 

Four.

 

It is a big age. 

 

Four.

 

It officially moves him into 'Little Boy' phase of life.

As he rapidly approaches the end of his nursery days I have to admit I am just a very little bit excited that he will be going to school in September.  I am seeing many social media updates from other mums claiming they don't want their little one to head off into the big wide world of school yet.  But for us we are craving a new solid routine.  He is so ready to attend school that when the paperwork arrived on our door mat I had absolutely no hesitation in ticking the 'Yes - he will be attending full time' box, much to one friends horror who clearly doesn't think her child is ready.  Every child is different.  Every parent is different too I suppose.

Together over various shopping trips (trips to the shops are frequent and thus short for us to survive it) we have collected up polo shirts, v-neck jumpers, trousers, new underpants, PE kit, plimsolls (ugly looking things), lunch boxes (although now we have been informed that all children starting school in September 2014 will be entitled to free school meals but I haven't been able to burst his bubble on that one yet).  We scoured the Internet and found a company that could get his unusual name embroidered onto a gym kit bag (Mum of The Year award that one almost got me).  Finally, the one thing I am not looking forward to, a million 'iron in' name tags made.

 

As we wait for September to follow, what should be, a busy but hopefully pretty damn cool summer, we have already started on his adventure.  For him it is probably going to be the biggest, scariest and most exciting thing he has done in his short little life so far.  And I feel so privileged and lucky to be his mum to hold his hand at the start of this new era in his life.

 

We have been to visit the school twice on different afternoons, and he has happily charged around the playground.  We have borrowed reading books.  We have a whole host of other dates that are illuminating his road into education.  We have purchased one or two school logo pieces of uniform ready for school trips or concerts.

 

I am confident that he is going to be just fine in this transition.  I think it will be more telling on me when Thursday and Friday are no longer 'our days'.  Our lazy, TV morning followed by bath and then the playground or a picnic somewhere starts cease.  And although the voice is often raised he is my buddy.  He talks non-stop but he certainly ensures the day is never dull.  He forces me to stop worrying about the house work and encourages me to have a go on that zip wire!

 

So, although I am looking forward to the new times ahead and excited about the opportunities that may come along with change I am going to make damn sure to spend as much time at the park kicking a ball around as possible.  There are a few hundred turns on that zip wire to be had yet.

 

And as I always like to tell him 'He'll always be my baby.'

  

Four - That Grand Old Age

Once again, I was astounded that another whole year had passed since I was attempting to find cards with SON and the appropriate age on.  J2 and I had made it through another 365 days, to the grand old age of four.

 

In 2013 when the impending age of three loomed I looked forward to it with the naïve hopefulness that, like in that legendary episode of Harry Enfield when Kevin turns from boy to teenager - but with the reverse effect - my tantrum throwing, stubborn little red head would turn into a polite, mindful little boy.

 

'When they get to three, they get easier.' I had heard almost everyone say. 

 

Hopeful.  Ever hopeful.

 

As you may have guessed this, of course, did not happen.  In fact I would dare to say that for the first six months of being three, he actually got worse.  However, things seemed to calm back down to a more manageable level for the latter six months.

 

At the ripe old age of four, J2 knows everything.  And is so unbelievably verbose he has no qualms in telling me, and most other people this in a four year old fashion.  He also has already established, to frustrating perfection, that amazing male art of 'selective hearing'.

 

Now don't get me wrong.  We have good days.  Those wonderful times when you can dare to think to yourself 'Houston I think we have turned a corner.' but more often than not, days are filled with drawn battle lines.  In a way this is fun.  I like to see my boy argue his case and try to negotiate his way out of trouble or into doing whatever he wants.  I think this could serve him as a good trait in the future if he hones it properly.  However, I do not appreciate it when we are in the middle of the supermarket and he is testing this skill out.

 

Most people take to J2 well.  He is a 'cheeky chappy' and of course I can see how that little grin and quirky comment will make you laugh and love him.  It makes me laugh and love him.  But when you see me snap 'Will you please - just do as I ask!', please remember I have been dealing with that 'cheeky chappy' and his disinterest in doing anything I ask him too, all day.

 

This is not a complaining post, I thought I had written about J1 a lot of late and it was high time I put a little something on here for my little J2 because he is such a character.  Yes he is very hard work to entertain as he doesn't have the greatest attention span, but it is a pleasure to be able to do just the 'normal' stuff such as scooting and going to the park or to the cinema.  When he behaves of course.

 

To get a day where he does and we get our chores done (hands up, he is a fantastic helper) and then we can take a trip and randomly chose an activity is, priceless.  When I watch him hop onto J1's bed with a tissue to wipe his dribble, or correct his glasses or just give him a cuddle makes me swell with pride.  To hear the two of them trying to have a little conversation - there is nothing sweeter to my ears.

 

So, as four approached I didn't imagine a big overnight change.  Good job, I didn't get one.  But I also realised that four really is a big number.  School applications have been submitted and results are eagerly awaited.  Number and letter learning books are being featured for 15 minutes a day in an attempt to get him to try and focus for more than 30 seconds.  Bikes have been mastered (with stabilisers of course) and artwork by the bucket load arrives from nursery.

 

Do I long for the baby years again?  In all honesty no.  But do I think time is going a little too fast?  Maybe.  Unless we are having a really stubborn day, then school I think will be the best place for him to learn some discipline that I am struggling to get through to him.

 

He is a character, our youngest boy, who is very into Mr Men and the only way to sum him up :

 

Mr Unique.

 

My Kid's Ginger - Deal with it! (Monday Madness)

When I was pregnant, both times around, other new mum's would say to me 'Be prepared to be asked if you have a girl or a boy, even if you have them dressed head to toe in blue / pink'.  And certainly after the birth of my first baby boy, despite being head to toe in blue with a blue blanket with a blue embroidered 'BOY' on it, I was still asked.

However this wasn't the case with my second little man.  People, instead felt they were far more entitled to comment on the colour of his hair than whether he had a 'pee pee' or 'noo noo'.  They would look in coo, scan that beautiful little face and then say 'Ohhhh look at that hair, oh well, it's more strawberry blond isn't it.' like saying that would lessen the pain.  Of what? 

Actually 'No' it is most certainly not 'strawberry blonde', my own hair is 'strawberry blonde'.  That is blond with red hints when the light hits it in a certain way, and I have always felt god damn blessed to have that hair because as far as I can see a lot of people pay a lot of money to a lot of hairdressers to make it look like that!

No thank you people, my little man does not have 'strawberry blonde' hair, he has GINGER hair.  G.I.N.G.E.R say it loud and proud!  Red or Orange, whichever term you prefer to describe Ginger hair is what my little guy has got and it's gorgeous.  It's vibrancy matches that of his personality, it's 'typical' trait of 'firey temper' matches him to a tee, it's playfulness look matches him down to the ground.  He was born to be a red head, a ... Ginger.

I don't feel the need to 'whisper', the word 'Ginger' when talking about my little boy, like it is something I am ashamed of.  I don't feel the need to tell everyone he is ginger when I am talking about him like it is something that needs drawing attention to because it's special.  It's his hair colour, it won't map out whether he will be a success in life or decide how happy he will make himself as an adult.

The reaction I have liked the most (actually caused true mortification to my friend, Mrs B-R, which caused no end of amusement to me) came from Mrs B-R's nan, Mrs G.  She got out of the car, saw him and said 'Blimey Lyns, he's proper Ginge isn't he!  Right, where are we going?' I loved that!  No, recognition of hair colour and then the 'pity' look or the attempt to pretend he isn't actually ginger.  I think he liked it too because later that evening he fell asleep on her, which detaching himself from me at the time was unheard of.

I want my boy to be proud of his hair colour, not subjected to reactions to ever make him think he shouldn't be.  I say listen to Ed Sheeren who said goodbye to his original record company because one of the things they suggested if he wanted to make it big was to change his hair colour!  BIG mistake eh!