First day at school

Today lad started school.  He scampered off to his teacher very happily so fingers crossed it's a smooth transition for him.  Change has never bothered him and although he prefers to observe before trying out new things like big slides, swimming and games with children, he has always happily gone to new places: friends' houses, new countries, school and kindergarten.  I felt very proud of him this morning, chatting to his mates in the class and informing his teacher of his weekend activities.  He barely turned round to say goodbye to the husband and I until the last minute when he gave us both a big cuddle and a huge smile.  It's a wonderful, sunny day and I'm so excited for him.  I hope school is as happy a place as it was for me.

Poor parenting techniques part 3

Different styles of discipline work with different children. It's all very well devising a 'supernanny' chain of consequences for poor behaviour but they have varying results depending on the temperament of your child.

For quite some time I struggled to find a way to get the lad to do what I was asking him as well as disciplining him when he'd done something wrong. Shutting him in his room enraged him. He would locate the toy capable of the worst level of destruction and thrash it against the walls, screaming at the top of his lungs. Enforcing a naughty step was tricky with the twins crawling all over the place. One day I tried the 'if you haven't brushed your teeth/turned off the TV/sat down at the table by the time I've counted to five then I'm going to take away your lego/Buzz Lightyear/favourite shoes.' It was an immediate winner. I thought it would probably only last a few weeks but it has been the number one form of getting the lad to do anything for a good year. He sometimes screams at me "don't count Mummy" but on the whole I have found the threat of confiscation to be a highly effective tool to bring about obedience. Not the most positive of parenting techniques but when needs must.....

As a result, the twins have learnt to count from an early age. On the downside, they can only count to 5 and they tend to shout with mounting volume and pregnant pauses between each number.

Following the curve ball

On Friday I accompanied the lad on an excursion with his nursery. Forty exciteable little four year olds and about twenty adults toddled off on the bus to the Te Puna Quarry Park. The most enjoyable part of any trip, if you ask the children afterwards, is often the transport and this was no exception. I must admit it was mine too. Sitting on a bus gazing out of the window I cuddled up to my son while we chatted about dinosaurs, axels (we could see one turning under a lorry as we waited at traffic lights) and his main interest at the moment - what sharks and whales eat.

We whiled away a lively morning climbing on old diggers, chasing butterflies and exploring amongst the plants and flowers at the park. As we got on the bus the headteacher announced that she thought we might drop into Tauranga art gallery on our way home to look at the Lynley Dodd exhibition. I assumed I had misunderstood. Of course no one would dream of just 'dropping in' with a bus load of tired preschoolers and their frazzled mothers on a rainy Friday morning. I was wrong. New Zealanders think nothing of throwing a quick curve ball in the organisational plans and then breezily rolling with it. My stiff, English need for a more military execution of itineraries had me beading up at the hairline.

We were welcomed by one of the gallery staff who read the children a quick story by the exhibiting author then asked them to adhere to the rules of the gallery. "Keep your voices down and don't touch anything." By now the back of my t shirt was wet with panic at the prospect of keeping the children's muddy, wet fingers away from the displays and dampening their natural urge to shout and run around when placed somewhere which demands quiet.

Fortunately we got away without adding any extra illustrations to the exhibition or testing the accoustics too vigorously. Even though I am, by nature, an extremely organised person who likes to plan in advance, I loved the lesson in playing things by ear. I was also impressed at the faith the nursery teachers had in their charges to respectfully enjoy the gallery. I wonder how much I am changing living here on the other side of the world and conforming to the local norm?

Change of 'tude

When I was pregnant I vowed never to dress my twins in the same outfits. I hadn't counted on the primeval instinct to make them look like little peas in a pod. For a while I indulged this rather twee desire and had the girls toddling round in different versions of the same dress or matching shorts and t-shirt. Just recently I have reverted back to my original dress theory.

Babies don't have the most complex of personalities. Their main characteristics are labelled as good/bad sleeper, good/tricky eater and cryer/non cryer. Now my twins are well over two years old they can do more human things such as choose the direction in which they walk, converse, make other children laugh (or cry) and generally position themselves in the world as singular entities as opposed to two babies whose mother guided them through routines where a step outside of syncronicity brought about bulging eyes and an increased sauvignon blanc consumption.

The first 2 years were merely a test of survival. Whether I dressed them the same or not was irrelevant. I feel inordinately proud that we have made it through still married and with a smidgen of breath in our lungs. Now that the dust is settling into the daily sandstorm of life with small children I want to dress them differently. Partly out of respect for twin1 and twin2 that they are separate people and partly out of respect for the lad who has endured and will continue to endure much shoving aside by friendly strangers who crane their necks inside the pushchair and coo over the visual spectacle of little clones.

I don't want my three to go through life as two groups - the twins then lad. I want them to be three people as well as understanding the natural grouping that twins have. Life is so much more fun with them all chatting, playing and being real people.

photo of twin2 taken by Maree Wilkinson

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Long chats on the phone are my specialist subject. I can settle into an hour plus of chin wagging with pretty much anyone: my Dad, an old school chum in the UK, a friend who lives a few roads away and I see pretty much daily or someone I have never met and am supposed to be interviewing for a magazine article. I thoroughly enjoy the downing of tools and immersing myself into a conversation. This luxury is being somewhat curtailed by my littlies. The lad sometimes answers the phone himself, loses interest, chucks it on the sofa and doesn't tell me someone is patiently asking 'is your mummy there?'

If I get to the phone first I immediately commence a continuous lap of the garden and house as I try to shake the twins off. They trot behind me wailing to pick them up/get them some milk/put on their sparkly shoes for the duration of my phone call. I try doubling back on them, locking myself in toilets, going out into the road and shutting them inside our garden and any manner of anti-tailing techniques which spring to mind. They are impressively dogged in their pursuit and I often succumb to their insistent bawling by irritably hanging up and allowing them to swarm over me like ants.

My clever friend http://www.mareewilkinson.con/ took this pic of twin1

Way out of leftfield

lad: Mummy why do girls have fannies?

me: it's the way all girls are made

lad: well then why do boys have willies and girls have fannies? what are they for?

me: [deep breath] well......

lad: what are skateboards made out of?

He keeps me on my toes, the lad.

lad turns 4

I awoke this morning to the question "Mummy am I four now?" I sleepily smiled a yes and pulled my big, grown up four year old son in for a cuddle. We have had the most wonderful day. The birthday present of a brontosaurus model was a massive hit, he chatted to my parents and brother on skype, played swing ball with the husband's parents and giggled with his sisters and cousin. At his request we went to the airport and watched planes land and take off followed by McDonalds. I watched twin2 turn into a deranged lunatic in her efforts to protect her bottle of juice and vowed to choose water next time.

Tomorrow we have all lad's friends round to enjoy a bouncy castle in the garden. He has been entranced at the 'getting older' part of his birthday. "Is it still my birthday? Am I still four?" And informing strangers of his age all day, brimming with shiny eyed glee. I am so proud of my little lad. He loves conversation and finding out how things work. His favourite programmes on TV are David Attenborough narrated nature documentaries and cookery programmes featuring Jamie Oliver. His happiest days have been spent helping his Daddy pour concrete into foundations and planting the vegetable garden. He has a great sense of confidence in himself and others and is fantastic company. He can concentrate well on a task and is interested in talking to adults. I love my special little boy. Happy birthday, son.