Grit is slumped all back to normal now after having her feathers ruffled by Badman yesterday. If I let Balls et al run my life and impose themselves into my daily concerns then I might miss what is exciting about home educating my three daughters, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger.
Like, this morning Shark made porridge.
She takes total control of this activity from start to finish. I do the unnecessary activities of lighting the gas ring on the hob and hovering about the kitchen. I suspect neither are in fact wanted but hey, she's still a child and I need to feel I am a responsible adult, even though sometimes I may be overtaken in that respect by my nine-year old daughter.
When breakfast is cooked, Shark turns off the gas, flicks the wooden spoon round the saucepan with one last expert turn, and lifts that steaming pan into the air. As she turns to the table, she instructs me to tell her sisters that porridge is arriving on the table now with home-made jams and honey.
So I oblige. It is a struggle, because I have to utter that word aloud, shouting it up the stairs to the bedrooms, bringing my mouth to use it, even though in my heart I am so very proud of Shark for becoming chief breakfast maker in this house.
It is the word porridge. That foul lump of beige that I can barely look at, let alone eat. Try persuading me to leave a burning house to consume one mouthful of that revolting dog's mush.
But as I gag on the word porridge, those two kids upstairs leap out of bed, quicker, smarter, better than I have ever managed, even with chocolate bribes and threats of year-long grounding. They dress themselves in a trice without me needing to snort, finger wag, shout, stride about the hall, threaten the police, social services, and school. Tiger and Squirrel bound down the stairs three at a time with the sort of faces you see on kids in Christmas adverts from Toys-R-Us.
They leave me standing in the empty hallway astonished that I ever missed this trick, and once again knocked sideways with the sudden wisdom that my kids are growing up, independent, self-directed, with miles of strength ahead of them.
And it is moments like this, Balls, Badman and Morgan, that are more powerful than any you can muster, and what this blog is truly here to prove.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Well done & keep it up. W eall need those moments. And who knows, one day your girls may even educate you in the delights of creamy porridge with Muscovado sugar on top. Yum!
I love porridge as long as it's cooked with milk and not water like the Americans do. I like sugar on top of mine and extra milk if it's hot, although I prefer cream. If you're going to sin, you have to do it right.
Hmm, I'm quite fussy about my porridge, but my children seem happy to eat it any which way, from stodgy to sloppy :)
hi, paradise! they may convert me, so long as thet are really serving me creme caramel.
nora! porridge with water?! you mean it actually gets WORSE?
more than, with words like 'stodgy' and 'sloppy' i think we may be coming close to why i hate the stuff in the first place. glad the kids eat it though. i notice they're not hungry 45 minutes after eating, too.
Post a Comment