Starters for ten...

I'm having one of those days where ideas for blog posts - here and elsewhere - are coming thick and fast.  

Should I write about how living with less is more (based on a prompt from a piece in The New York Times Sunday review)*?  

Should I write about protecting my son from an overenthusiastic music teacher who loves to teach but doesn't appear to understand the limits a 7 year old has after a full day at school?  

Perhaps I should touch on how the musical instruments my sons play are as much a reflection of of my concerns that they be equipped to have something to bring to the the party (quite literally) in the future, rather than of interest on the Boys' parts in playing those specific instruments?

Or, should I write about parenting expat children and how the guilt we parents feel at imposing transient lifestyles on our kids is usually far in excess of that we should feel?

Decisions, decisions...

I think it's a fair assumption that I will instead write about something really important - like chocolate - but at least my intentions are good.

*Thankyou Amanda Surbey for the link on facebook to the original piece

Silent Sunday

Be careful what you wish for; Boys and Reading

I love to read.  Always have, probably always will.  The loss of my Kindle on a plane a couple of weeks back - entirely my fault as I can't even blame the children for distracting me since I was sitting a couple of rows away from them and Husband - has left me bereft (pauses for heavy sigh and moment of quiet).  Or rather it did, until I realised I could download the Kindle app to the ipad and that all the purchases I made to date were stored in the ether - but still, I WANT MY KINDLE BACK, DAMMIT.

Anyway.  Where were we?  Oh yes, I love to read.  Boy #1 also loves to read and is a carbon copy of the bookworm I was at the same age.  By the way Mum; I finally get how frustrating it is to try and get your kids ready for school in the morning with one of them constantly glued to a book.  Boy #2 has, on the other hand, up until recently been more about drawing than reading.  The house is awash with carefully drawn pictures of A380 airplanes complete with the customisations he plans to add to them in the future when he is the engineer in charge of design at Boeing. Things like gardens, tennis courts, swimming pools, extra seats for the Super First Class section he's going to introduce - you know the type of thing.

These signs of his active imagination are great, but I have to admit to have been looking forward to the day when he discovers just how much fun reading can be.

Well, that day has arrived.  But rather than resulting in a calm and peaceful scene of both Boys sitting reading in perfect harmony, we now have another turf war on our hands.  Boy #1, you see loves to read stuff like The Hobbit, Harry Potter and such-like - but he's also partial to the odd comic and illustrated Asterix and TinTin book.

And guess which books are most attractive to a 7 year old brother just discovering the joy of books?

That sitting and reading in perfect harmony?  We'll get there, I'm sure.  Eventually.

'What matters is deciding to get on...' An open letter to Expats considering moving to Moscow.

Every now and again I am contacted by people thinking of / planning to move to Moscow.  The questions these people ask are varied and often surprising, but I always try and answer them honestly whilst at the same time being positive about their forthcoming adventure.

Russia is, you see, something of an unknown quantity for most people in 'western' countries.  They don't know much about it, and what they do know is often not very encouraging.  So almost the first thing I write in my response is something along the lines of 'Congratulations on your forthcoming move' - because I'm fairly certain they won't have heard that from many people back home.  

Then I touch on schools (lighten up - especially if you're coming from the UK), traffic (it's hell), bureaucracy (don't ask 'why', just ask 'how'), learning Russian (even a few words will help), and prioritising the family commute over the working partner's travel (something of a bugbear with me since all the families I've known who've left early have been those where the kids have had a 2 hour drive to school whilst the dad - and yes, it IS always the dad in this situation - has a 15 minute journey).

Recently however, I've found myself wanting to include a quote from one of my sons' favourite movies, The Polar Express in these letters. (Can you tell I've been subjected to too much kids tv over the last few years?).  I can't, of course - how trite would that sound? - but here, on the blog, I can say what I please so I'm going to use it...   

I'm paraphrasing, but after the children's adventures are just about finished and our Hero arrives back outside his home, the Conductor's final words to him (apart from 'Merry Christmas!' obviously) are something like "That's the thing about trains; it doesn't matter where they're going.  What matters is deciding to get on..."

That, for me, sums up a successful attitude to coming to live in Moscow.  Who knows where the ride will take you?  It may be where you're expecting - and equally, it may not.  But wherever you end up, if you sign on for the experience with an open mind you will be surprised, entertained, rarely bored and you may just find strengths and skills that you never knew you possessed. 

So.  In the Conductor's words; 'Well. Are you coming?'

Parenting, 21st Century Style. I hope.

Sometimes, being a parent is just. plain. exhausting.

Before I even start this post properly, I want to say that most of the time my Boys are a delight.  I look around me, at the issues and problems some other parents face with their kids and think; we haven't done so badly.  No, actually, forget the British understatement; we've done bloody well.  We won the lottery when we were gifted with two such wonderful sons, and I will never - NEVER - forget that.

But.  They are still children.  They are still boys.  They are still extremely normal - along with all that goes with it.  

Recently I've been solo-parenting for most of the working week.  I take my hat off to those who do it full-time and permanently; I've been doing it most Monday-Fridays since August (holidays excepted), and it's hard work.  The smallest fly in the ointment at 7.30 am can alter the tone of an entire day, and to avoid that, I have to admit to have fallen back on trying to be super-organised.  A place for everything, everything in it's place.  Snow boots by the back door, library books always on the same table, school bags packed with homework the night before, school clothes set out the previous evening's bathtime, etc etc.  We're like a well-oiled machine, the Boys and I.

Except, of course, we aren't.  I am.  In my quest for a simpler life, I have to admit to having picked up 90% of the slack on tasks that probably should be responsibilities of my sons.

It makes life smoother, I chose to tell myself.  Sure, I probably shouldn't be the one to pack Boy #1's lunch box into his school bag in the morning - he is 9, after all - but what if he forgets it?  I'm only going to end up having to go back into school with it, an extra journey I can do without.  No, I'll just do whilst he's lying on the sofa snatching a last few minutes with Harry Potter before school;  at least then I know it's done.  And as for Boy #2, what of it if I'm the one to pull his snow pants off the hook for him, lay them out on the floor for him to meander up to when he's finished messing about with lego and slowly pull on whilst the rest of us are waiting at the front door?  Does it really matter who gets them out as long he has them on?  It's minus 10degC out there, after all - he can't go out without them...

But deep down I knew that I wasn't really doing the Boys any favours.  Sure, I was doing myself a favour in the short term - putting my mind at rest that Boy #1 had his lunch, getting Boy #2 to school on time in spite of himself -  but in the longer term, will I still be doing these things for them when they are 11 and 9?  15 and 13?  18 and 16?  It doesn't bear thinking about.  

I can't help thinking that it's time to let go a little.

Last week I went to a seminar that used 'Parenting with Love and Logic' as a tool to help us do that.  It's an interesting book that has as one of it's central tenets the fact that unless we give children the opportunities to make choices - including, occasionally, the wrong ones - and to try, succeed and sometimes fail all on their own merits, we are not allowing them to 'own' their choices, to develop confidence in themselves, and are not giving them the best start in life.  

The writers of the book argue that those of us who are helicopter parents (not me), or drill sergeants (regrettably, sometimes me) are not helping our children become healthy successfully functioning adults in the way that we would be able to do if we adopted more of a consultation approach.  If we would stand back, and let our children do the thinking.  Yes, we should give them firm rules and guidelines, guidance when required or when they ask for it, and a safe and always loving structure from within which to do that, but we should let our children make their own informed decisions and deal with the consequences (excepting, of course, when they put themselves in life-threatening situations).  Essentially, the book suggests that if we can help children learn to rely on and trust their own inner voice from a relatively young age - by not deafening them with our instructions and commands from outside - then they will be better equipped to rely on and trust their own sense of self-worth when they get older.  When we won't be there to give advice or to suggest that perhaps climbing into the car driven by their friend who's sunk 5 pints of lager at a party might not be such a good idea.

For example...  So, Boy #1 might forget his lunch.  He'll probably only do it once.  And Boy #2 might get cold when he sets foot outside.  You can be damn sure he'll rush into his snow pants the next time I ask.  Right?

It's an interesting theory.  Today was the day that I started to put it into practice.  

Boy #1 was ill and had to stay home (the best laid plans, and all that), but other than that we had a good start without quite as much moaning and complaining I usually get from Boy #2 ('Love & Logic approach to getting into the snow pants; 'Oh look, it's -9.5degC this morning.  Do you want to put your snow pants on inside, Boy #2, or in the car?  If you're going to take your time that's fine but then you will need to put them on the car...' Unsurprisingly inside - and putting them on quickly - was chosen).  

But then we crashed and burned spectacularly after school.  

Boy #2 has piano lessons almost immediately after school on Mondays.  He loves them - once I can get him into the room.  Unfortunately, that part - the getting him into the room - is the tricky bit.  Today was no exception as he raced upstairs the moment we got home and started working on a complicated lego creation.  I wasn't too concerned; we'd discussed the fact it was piano today both in school and on the way home, he knew his teacher was coming.  Everything - I thought - would be fine.

Ha.  Ha ha ha.

There was no piano lesson.  I had to send the teacher away without having actually taught a single note.    On the plus side, Boy #2 has now learned that in that situation I WILL take the cost the of the wasted lesson out of his savings and that the lego he wanted to play with WILL stay on the top shelf until next week. He has also learned that not showing age-appropriate behaviour will result in no tv for the rest of the day.  This is the one that REALLY hit home, of course.  

I also managed to stay calm, collected, and sympathetic through the subsequent 'You're not being fair's', the 'I don't like you very much today's' and so on - and most importantly, not to give in and to hold my nerve despite repeated pleading.

But I feel terrible for the poor teacher who came all the way over to us despite the fact that her car was in the garage for repairs; using the tram, bus and minibus to get here.  I feel a hot wave of shame when I think about it, to be honest.  That a child of mine would be so spoilt as to do that to a highly qualified teacher who, quite frankly, did not have to add him to her already over-crowded schedule when I begged her to do so last September.  I have to admit that stings. I think she understood.  She certainly told me she did - but that's not the point.

However, as I wrote to my husband earlier when I wanted to fill him in and be sure we were singing from the same hymn book when he called to speak to the children this evening, this is not about me.  I wrote;

'Am trying a new approach - out of that book I'm reading - where we make these issues their problems rather than ours.  For example, the cancellation of the lesson is his problem. The apology he will need to give her is his problem.  The cost of the wasted lesson is his problem.  Not being allowed to play with the lego that prompted this - f0r a week - is his problem.  We can genuinely sympathise with how that makes him feel - that's a shame - but we don't give in. These are his problems and he must deal with the consequences.'

Watch this space to see how it pans out...

Silent Sunday

Give a little bit...

Putting these up here seems to be becoming a bit of a habit; this is a video that both Christine Mosler and Jo Beaufoix shared on facebook, and which cheered me up on this raw and snowy morning in Moscow.

Enjoy...

(And can I just say - 16 days, and still no Diet Coke.  Despite featuring the clip above...)