Gene Karma

There are lots of differences between me and my little boy. I’ve already mentioned that’s he cool, and clever and most glaringly he doesn’t seem to like shoes. Whereas I don’t think there are enough days in the week to wear all the shoes I’d like to, Xavier tries to not wear shoes at all. He takes them off, he tries to lose them, and I’m pretty sure he hides them as well. Not like his mother at all.

And as much as I adore my child, there are times (I know this might come as a surprise to every parent out there), that he tries me somewhat. There are days when my patience, which isn’t great at the best of times, is severely tested, and although I feel guilty thinking it, let alone typing it, I long for bedtime (his and mine).

He is incredibly strong willed. If he really wants something then God help me. When I tell him off he either ignores me, throws a tantrum or looks at me as if I was the devil. Whichever it always serves to make me feel bad.

His tantrums are quite amusing sometimes. He literally throws himself on the floor, kicking his legs and making some kind of wailing noise which makes me wonder briefly if he is having a spiritual encounter. But no, it’s his way of trying to convince me of his utter distress. He’s such a drama queen.

And boy he is stubborn. For example, he will go to the fridge and take something out, I’ll put it back, he’ll go back and take it out, and so on. This game can run and run until someone breaks. Invariably it’s me. I’m getting no prizes for endurance. My toddler, however, could win a gold medal.

Sometimes, after his afternoon nap he often wakes up whinging. It’s such a horrible noise, normally only stopped by resorting to CBeebies, which then makes me want to whinge but of course I try to pacify him, because of the endurance thing again. Of course he’s not like this when he wakes at six in the morning or earlier, oh no then it’s all jazz hands and singing at the top of his voice, but his post nap grumps are something to behold.

Finally he is very good at using the word ‘no,’ but when I use it to him he has mastered a look of total miscomprehension. There are days when it feels like the only word I say is ‘no.’

Now before you think I’m having a big moan, I will say that most of the time I find my son totally adorable, and  most of my complaints are pretty standard among parents of toddlers I’m sure.

After a particularly difficult day, my mother phoned.

‘What was I like as a child?’ I asked her.

‘You were lovely,’ she replied.

‘So I didn’t give you much of a hard time?’ I was feeling a little smug.

‘Well you were strong-willed, and your tantrums were legendary and God help us if you didn’t get your own way.’

‘Not always lovely then?’

‘Oh and you were so stubborn. Impatient. And bossy-‘

‘OK Mum, I get the picture. Actually Xavier is like me then.’

‘Oh no, he’s much better behaved.’ Well Grandmothers are bound to say that aren’t they?

When I thought about it I realised that in many ways, my son was like me; and I couldn’t help but wonder if Gene Karma existed. I was difficult to my mother; my child difficult to me. Great. That should teach me to have been a delightful, pliable child. What worries me is that as far as my mother is concerned I might not have changed too much.

My child is far from a monster. He is pretty well behaved most of the time and a joy to be around but when he does play up you definitely know about it. Just like his mother. As I couldn’t go back in time and fix it I wondered how it would develop as he got older. Thankfully I was well behaved at school.

I decided to think about the good sides of genetic karma. We are also similar in many lovely ways. Xavier is very funny and I like to think I am funny sometimes. He is also very loving when he wants to be, he’s pretty smart he is just the most gorgeous child ever (ha, just like me).

However, it seemed that in my ponderings of gene karma I had unleashed a monster. My mother and everyone else who knew me as a child, now felt it appropriate to bring up all my childhood faults. How I would never sleep and there was no way of getting me to bed on time. How I had most of the family wrapped round my little finger because they didn’t want to have to endure my horrid and long running tantrums. How I was incredibly bossy and a little manipulator. The list went on and on and on.

After a long think about how my boy’s difficult behaviour was perhaps payback, I had to concede that it wasn’t. There was no way that genetic karma was in play here or my parental life would be much harder. I shudder to think about it.

In actual fact it seems that I’ve got off pretty lightly.

Holiday Romance

As we unpacked my entire house I felt incredibly excited. Not only at seeing my lovely friend and her family but also because Xavier and I were having a traditional seaside holiday. Which has a charm all of its own.

I know we lived by the sea but this was a different seaside. Scarborough makes me think of childhood seaside holidays. Not quite ‘kiss me quick’ hats but nearly, and I love that. Anyway, I’ve visited often; and even once years ago played bingo in one of the big neon lighted amusement arcades that are dotted along the seafront. I think I won a tin of Spam actually. But yes, I am a fan of going back to basics.

Because it reminds me of when I was young and I like the idea that in this age of technology (blah blah I’m showing my age), some things are almost the same.

Xavier had many firsts in our week away. He rode his first donkey (Samuel, and he cried when the ride finished). We took him to his first circus, one with no animals of course, and my little boy sat mesmerised for over two hours. He had his first glimpse of Morris Dancers in Whitby Bay, and have to say that he seemed to like them, which is good because I have a bit of a soft spot for Morris dancers, I think it’s the knee bells. He had his first Scarborough fish & chips, which he enjoyed although was a little blasé because we do get decent fish & chips here.

However the most significant first, for me anyway is that he had his first holiday romance. Honestly, my little ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’ fell in love with not one but with two older ladies.

My friend’s daughters were eight and ten years old. They are both beautiful girls and they both took a fancy to Xavier, carting him around wherever they went, carrying he when he would allow it, playing with him on their big trampoline and sitting with him when he ate, basically they hardly left his side.

And Xavier lapped up the attention and actually returned the affection. On one occasion, he was with the older girl in the playroom watching his bedtime programme. I walked in to find Xavier giving her the biggest hug. She explained to me that he’d given her hair a little tug (well that is the first way he ever flirted), and she had said ‘ow’ so he’d leant over and given her a big cuddle. With the younger girl he snuggled into her and kept giving her his foot so she could blow raspberries on it. Which she did again and again. Who said romance was dead?

I had never seen Xav quite so keen on any children before, but he went off happily with them wherever they would take him and before the week was out there were a lot more cuddles and hugs bestowed. He allowed himself to be totally manhandled and I couldn’t help but think that he had already developed a preference for blondes.

What I came away with was a desire for an older child. Of course I’m not promoting child labour, I don’t think, but for the first time ever with Xavier I had this freedom of knowing that he was alright (it took a bit of getting used to), as the girls took him to play. Not only that but he was enjoying himself. If I needed to take a shower, or prepare tea for him they would come and play with him and well we both felt pretty indulged at the end of the week.

I did think about taking one of the girls home with me but let’s face it, there was no room in the car.

While Xavier was having his holiday romance I was struggling with my limited holiday wardrobe. I had packed for every eventuality for Xavier but hadn’t been quite so sensible for me. Apparently I thought it would be hot in Yorkshire in August and had taken clothes accordingly. I’d got jeans with me but only one cardigan and no coat. I mean who needs a coat in August?

I had only one pair of shoes without open toes and they were ballet shoes so I couldn’t really wear socks with them. Basically my feet were frozen for a week. I had bought some socks in case it was cold in bed (really I am an old lady), and so in the evening I could be found wandering around in those, but they were too thick to cram inside my dainty ballet shoes. Let’s not even think about the way that would have looked.

On the one day we went to the beach the sun was shining so I came downstairs in my sun dress, and flip flops. My friend did give me an odd look but I ignored it. However later, sat on the beach wrapped in both a towel and a beach blanket, with my feet buried in the sand trying to warm them I understood. I underestimated the biting wind.

On the bright side it did remind me of a typical English summer beach scene, even if I looked like Grumpy Great Auntie Edna. So for the rest of the week, although it was sunny it was cold and my feet were suffering. I kept asking my friend if I could go and buy some boots but she said that was a waste of money, instead she came up witha a solution.

‘Oh, one of the girls’ friends left some trainers here and I think they’re a size 4,’ she declared and I felt hope rise within me. Lucy went to get them. My hope turned to horror as I looked at them.

‘They’re Heelys,’ I said, recognising the trainers with wheels. My friend started laughing hysterically. The girls and Xavier joined in (he didn’t understand but he would laugh when the girls laughed, that’s how much he adored them).  Yet another lesson learnt; cold feet are preferable to a broken neck.

After a day of being back at home Xavier woke up very upset, crying and looking miserable. I did all the usual things, taking his temperature etc but there was nothing obvious.

‘I think he’s love sick,’ I concluded.

My baby was missing his two older ladies, and I just hoped that this wasn’t a sign of things to come.