fear factor

I caught a little bit of a fascinating talk on the Redi Thlabi Show about the different roles mothers and fathers play in their children's lives. It was interesting because her guest (whose name I didn't get!) had some pretty unique and fresh input, more than the staid 'mothers teach you to nurture and fathers to throw a ball' kind of crap.

One of my best things was he said that an important role of fathers is to teach their daughters to be fearless. He expanded: fearless to hammer a nail/ trust a man/ jump off a high rock/ stand by her convictions/ argue a point/ be vulnerable/ be pretty.
And then I got to where I was going and had to turn the radio off. I wish I could have carried on listening.

But I've been thinking about it a lot since.

I think Husband's doing pretty well on this. He gave Friday the fearlessness to take on that big swing, and she regularly enjoys a little adrenalin rush on the back of his bike (in the road outside our house, going really slowly...).

She's proving to be strong and confident pushing herself off on a borrowed paddle-ski last weekend with nary a fear or hesitation.

It does my heart proud to see my girls being courageous. And I think I'm not bad at encouraging their bravado myself.

There's a very steep pedestrian bridge near our house and it was on my watch that the girls started careening down it on their black plastic pushbikes, screeching down at heart-stopping speeds all screams of delight and burning rubber off the soles of their sneakers, drawing appreciative glances from the teenage skate-boarders milling around.
I was thrilled with my little daredevils.

Ironically though the first time their father witnessed this activity he was horrified. As the girls flew down the bridge towards us he couldn't look - crouching on the ground covering his face babbling about skin grafts and hospital stays.
I was forthwith stripped of my title of Super Cool Mum and instead branded Negligent Parent of the Week, and a new rule was decreed:
Helmets!

I guess it's all about finding that balance between their fearlessness and our own ...

parenting in public

I read an article a few weeks back, an opinion piece really, wherein the writer was commenting on some kid's atrocious behaviour in the KFC. I've searched but I can't find the article to link to - sorry - but the point was that the writer, and most of those who left comments were taking the old 'in my day we just got klapped good and proper for bad behaviour - what's wrong with today's parents?' line. Yawn.

Whether you're a spanker or not, if you're a parent you'll know from experience or observation that 2% of the time a swift slap will silence an unreasonable child, the other 98% of the time? He or she'll just scream even louder.
Not the end goal you're hoping to achieve in a public place right?
Also, again whether you support spanking or not, I think that to spank in public is a very different kind of punishment than spanking at home. In public you're adding humiliation to the pain you've inflicted, on top of whatever emotion got the kid acting out in the first place.
Of the list I feel humiliation is the most harmful.

My take on the KFC-screamer was that the kid was over-tired, needing a poo, or hungry - hungry for real food I should add. These are the 3 main reasons my girls act up, though like all children, they're totally capable of pulling new reasons for losing their shit out the bag anytime.

All of this I considered as, under the watchful eye of a good dozen other parents (and knowing that whether in judgement or sympathy, they're definitely gauging my response), I had the rare delight of extracting my kicking and screaming, hungry, over-tired (and probably needing a poo - because don't they always in a public place anyway?), big girl from a restaurant over the weekend.

Here's how I did it:
I left husband to pay bill and handle non-screaming child
I told screamer firmly and quietly that she's disturbing the other diners and needs to calm down and come to the car. NOW.
I offered to carry her (a diffusing tactic which usually works - she's so big now that carrying is a treat)
But when it didn't, I scooped her (and her long, long kicking legs) up, and carried her to the car in a calm and dignified manner
At the car, I chucked her in the back seat, slammed door shut, locked car and while she thrashed and foamed at the mouth inside, sent this tweet:

And it really did.

I was proud of myself that I didn't lose my shit. That I didn't make any ridiculous threats, that I remained calm, that I didn't flash too much flab at innocent bystanders as I wrangled my girl, and crucially: that we didn't cave on the ice-cream issue which had caused the furor in the first place.

But I know enough to not regard this as a precedent set. I'm lucky that I can count on one hand the number of times my girls have (so far) caused a scene in public, but I'm under no illusions that I'm out of the woods on this one. And I know that my response hinges on as many factors as their behaviour does - very possibly this time the large G'nT I'd enjoyed with my meal made all the difference.

What I did learn is that parenting in public carries a whole set of different challenges to parenting at home, and that decisiveness, swift action and feigned nonchalance (to the freaking kid and the inevitable audience) is definitely my game plan. And maybe a stiff drink where possible.

Let's see if I have occasion to eat these words.

And btw - we don't have the pox! Yippeee.

mummy cool

The other evening I got the girls into the bath, slipped away and reappeared in bright red lipstick. They were entranced.
I then launched into a shockingly awful rendition of Shirley Bassey's 'Big Spender', complete with the old hairbrush-as-a-mike prop and suggestive hip waggles.
Can you see their eyes, wide with admiration, magic, adoration, fascination?

In De Waal Park some months ago a horrible witch of a lady with a troupe of mismatched dogs and an extremely bad attitude started shouting at Friday and her buddy for chasing the pigeons. Now I don't condone bird-abuse, but no one (else) shouts at my kids without a really good reason so I gave her a piece of my mind.
The girls stared at me with awe and love.

I think they like me, they really really like me. They think I'm cool. In fact, they think I'm so cool that one of the most damning things I can say to them at the moment is, 'That's not cool' and they immediately start to look sheepish.

And it's breaking my heart.

'Cos I know that one day, all too soon, I'm going to be the uncoolest person on the planet to them. That sticking up for them in public or singing out loud or wearing too bright lipstick or probably even just breathing is going to relegate me into eyeball rolling deep sighing territory.
One day one of them is going to turn to me and say 'Mum, that's just not cool'.

I can only hope by then I'm too cool to care.

everybody needs them

Good neighbours that is.

Late one night a few months back I heard the ominously distinctive noises of someone breaking into the house next door. I leaped from my warm bed, peered out the window, just in time to hear glass, a lot of glass, smashing.
It was so loud it even woke Husband. Yup, that loud.

We huddled in the shadows outside the front door, whispering details and our address to the security company on the phone, watching aghast as two figures in hoodies brazenly moved about in our neighbour's front garden.

It was cold, really cold, but we kept our posts, warmed by our conviction that we were assisting in bringing some bad guys to book.

Just before the security guards arrived we realised in distress that the burglars were readying to leave. They carried bags out to a waiting vehicle, parked just out of sight.
Husband crept out from our hiding place.
'They're leaving,' I hissed, disappointed. 'Get the reg number but don't be a hero!'

The car started up, bumped off the pavement and sped away. Giving us just enough time to read the slogan on the side:
24h Glass Repairs.

ADT Security roared round the corner, adrenalin-fulled armed guards jumping out, 'Did they come back?' they were shouting.
'Er ...'

Turns out our neighbours were broken into (for realz) a couple of hours earlier. The intruder/s made off with a DVD player. The cops were on the scene in minutes.
We heard nothing.

Everybody needs good neighbours. Even our neighbours.