children

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#48: pick up all the litter on my street AND #49: Be a children’s entertainer

Time is slipping away from me, if 100 challenges are to be done by May. And the only answer is to start doubling up on them. So, I hatched a cunning plan to combine these two in one activity.

My husband and several other gentlemen of the village went away for the weekend. All the abandoned wives and children sought solace in numbers, and gathered together for a marathon 24 hour play date and sleepover. I volunteered to lead the first activity: a village litter pick-up, dressed as superheroes. It was inspired, as it enabled me to a)gain maximum value from the Bananaman investment, and b) create a slightly strange and dare I even say fun event from an activity that might otherwise have met with protest.

But it is marvellous how willingly the children accept such proposals. ‘We’re all going to dress up as superheroes and pick up all the litter in the village’. Of course we are. What else are Saturday afternoons for? 10 children ranging from 3-8 years embraced the prospect, and presented as instructed, variously dressed as Batman, Spiderman, a princess, a pirate, a ballerina, Mrs Incredible… I gave them each a carrier bag for their spoils. And a pep talk about how the village needs us. No litter must remain after our efforts. And off they all ran, in high spirits.

I had been anxious we’d fail to find any litter (for such is the nature of the very community-spirited village we hail from) – but once we started to look we found a surprising amount. They checked around bins, dug about in ditches, scraped up mushy paper. On occasion the refuse was so precariously positioned that only Bananaman could safely go in for it. Between us we filled about 8 carrier bags, enough for everyone to feel proud! And finished up in the park for some well deserved celebratory roundabouting. Happily we only bumped into one other family, and she was very understanding about it!
litter picking party
The hunt was followed by a feast of chicken nuggets, ice cream and cookies, a couple of hours of trampolining, endless table football contests, DVDs and stories.

But at bedtime a couple of the kids were asked what had been the best thing about the day. ‘Litter picking with Bananaman’ came the gratifying reply. Oh yes.

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#44: Take the children to the beach for a day trip, just me and them. Have fun without spending money

I had a vision for this one. I was going to take my brood to Brean Down, and have a lovely day out in nature, running on beaches, fishing in rock pools, taking photos, observing sea birds, picnicking in the dunes.  How delightful.

Within seconds of being left alone with them, it all went massively awry.

I suggested the beach. Massive excitement. I mentioned an hour in the car to get there. Absolute mutiny and utter refusal. No one would go. They are all well aware that there is a fake beach 5 minutes up the road, and that is where they wanted to be. Nothing else would do. Everyone howled. My resolve weakened.

I wondered though. The downside of the local fake beach is the £10 entry fee, hence it involves spending money. But. What if we cycled in the back way, and thus avoided the car parking charge? That would be a triumph for frugality, and also create an adventure, because the beach is 2 miles from home, and the bikes are very small.   I put the plan to the people in charge. They were mad for it! I stressed the need for unwavering sensible behaviour, as the ride would involve real roads. They assured me they were equal to it. No one would make a fuss about not being at the front. No one would cycle into someone else’s wheels and knock them sideways and giggle about it. No one would have a hissy fit because they couldn’t get up the hill. All would be serene, grown up, and responsible. I beamed at them proudly. What could go wrong?

I cycled at the back, to slow approaching traffic. That inevitably put someone at the front who held but a tenuous grasp on the concept of left and right, making directional control difficult. I stressed the need to stop wherever white lines were painted across the road. This led to multiple unnecessary stops, at any and every form of paintwork, but better too careful than the opposite. We got up the hill. We executed 2 junctions. We were on fire!

bikers 

A mile and a half in though, morale was drooping. A head wind was not helping. The road was long. I called a halt in a layby, and dished out the chocolate.
biking break
I had thought this ride took 10 minutes, and we were already nearly an hour into it.   We sat on some rocks. I delivered my most motivational of pep talks. 3 angry faces stared back at me, unmoved. I promised an icecream upon arrival at the beach. That did the trick. (Though it rather undermined the ‘spend no money’ bit.)

Back on our bikes and on we went. An hour and a half after leaving home, we had achieved the beach.  A triumph!

Immediately upon arrival, all their clothes came off, with scant regard for propriety. We were at the beach after all, and would need our swim suits on. Never mind that it is mid-March, cloudy, and the red flag is flying over the water, a clear hint that swimming is discouraged. But the brood got togged up, and in a fit of ingenuity, took their buckets, began gathering water from the lake, and pouring it into a corner of the sandpit to create a pool big enough to splash in. Various other children were recruited to the project, including, thankfully, a family that we are very good friends with. It was already apparent that my cycling party would not be equal to making the journey home. Luckily I was able to leave the children with the friends while I shot home for the car.   The eldest crashed off her bike while I was absent, landing in a bramble bush and soaking one side of herself in the lake. Many tears. We returned home somewhat chastened by the whole escapade!   Mummy solo day care is not what it once was!  I must be out of practice now they are all at school. But at least I only spent £6!

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#42: Cook a proper meal every day for a fortnight (no chicken nuggets!)

What a relief that this one is over! It was supposed to be the beginning of a whole new era of taking pride in my domestic duties, but au contraire! I am heaving a mighty sigh of relief and popping the fishfingers on.

The last fortnight has seen: spaghetti bolognaise (x3); vegetarian lasagne, pasta carbonara (you’ll notice a penchant for pasta in our house); prawn risotto, jacket potatoes (does that count as cooking?); a freestyle chicken stroganoff creation and a curry.

Each new dish brings forth fresh wails of dismay from the children. The eldest falls to the ground in teary distress if confronted with anything other than pasta and cheese. Each night when I shout ‘Dinner!’, it has been with heavy heart; the word heralds an hour-long stand-off while we negotiate miserably over the exact quantity of each item that must be consumed in order to qualify for pudding. Doleful faces grimace; anguished sobbing fills the air. Cups of squash are at the ready to banish the fearsome taste of my cuisine. A mouthful is reluctantly accepted, only then to be rejected, and sprayed all over the table. The manners agenda is dropped entirely, in favour of getting anything eaten at all. They can eat it off the floor tiles with their hands or even feet, if they would only eat it.

Stickers are promised, sticker reward agreements brokered. Daddy is called home from critical meetings to present a united front at the battle scene. No workplace demand could compete with the level of urgency, of knowing our trio is about to be confronted with a vegetable lasagne.

It is a sapping business. But at least I have done it.

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#29: Volunteer at school

This was a big one for me, because I have long suspected that I am not good with children other than my own.  (In fact perhaps not even with my own!  But they are rather stuck with it.)

My morning routine is still sufficiently insane that by the time I get to school I am heartily relieved to offload my own 3 children – so acquiring 27 more at that point is really about the last thing on my mind.

But for the sake of the 100 things, I made an offer to school a couple of weeks ago, and thus was booked to assist in Class R on a Thursday morning.  ‘Sit in a quiet room and help the children change their books’ she had said.  It sounded like a manageable brief.

But argh!!  I had not factored in World Book Day.  I arrived with my troops (late, chaotically, and in somewhat tenuous costumes – one bear, one Tinkerbell, and one black cat); to find the playground swarming with excitable pirates, Rapunzels, Snow Whites, witches, dinosaurs, crocodiles, tigers and the occasional uniformed child whose parent had clearly forgotten.  It would, the class teacher admitted apologetically, be something of an unusual day.  She offered me the option of starting my help sessions next week instead, but a little face crumpled beneath the bear head, and I realised I would have to see it through.  If only I’d come in costume myself!  Dammit.

The classes were all mixed up; the register was conducted by book character names, so I hadn’t the least idea who most of the children were. But they were all quite charming, and well behaved, and most excited to have me there, which was gratifying.  Before many minutes had passed I was supervising the creation of oil pastel-crayon self-portraits, drawn in a mirror frame, (inspired by the tale of Snow White).  The children were to study every detail of their own visage and copy it exactly as they saw it, not as they imagined it to be.  They were to reproduce their actual skin colour, actual eye shape, and any odd features that might be going on, on account of their costumes. 

And so they began faithfully replicating.  Nostrils were writ large and pig-like.  Eye lashes were lustrous.  Spiderman was cursing his complicatedly webbed face.  One girl was carefully selecting the right shade of red for a big zit on her chin.  Kids with glasses, or scars, or different pigmentation were all happily studying themselves and copying from life without self-consciousness. It was a delight!  Nobody cried, nobody wet themselves, nobody hit me.  Things have moved on immeasurably since I last helped out at preschool!

I was promoted to the glitter table, where the mirror frames were embellished.  2 glue sticks, 8 children, and no fighting!  School must be operating in some sort of magical parallel dimension; this would be an unimaginable scene in my house. 

Glittering concluded; my characters trooped off to study The Enormous Turnip.  A fresh assortment came in, and I settled to hear Snow White again.  More mirrors, more pastels, more glitter.  When break time came I slunk off.  But it was a very worthwhile morning, and I shall have no qualms about going back next week.  Changing their books should be easy now!