Living the dream. Or the TV advert, according to John Lewis.

I’m pretty sure most of you will have seen the new John Lewis Christmas tv ad, which aired this weekend. This is not a sponsored post. Geeeeeeze, stop with your bloody cynicism.

D and I saw this advert and well, we both blubbed a little. Now, it should be stressed that I do not cry at such things. Although, the last thing I cried at was when we finally got to the end of watching Prison Break recently, and we found out what happens to Burrows and Schofield. Damn. Those two guys are hawt.

Anyway, I don’t do crying at stuff, it’s just not me. Am I unemotional? Far from it. I have my moments. But I’m also aware of real life, and how most tv is utter bollocks. Including adverts. (Prison Break, however, is entirely real, so shut your mouth.) It took me a second to figure out why D and I were both pretending why we had something in our eyes, both of us being so down to Earth and all, and then D said it.

“That’s exactly what Noah would do.”

Jesus, the man done hit the nail on the proverbial head.

I was gobsmacked by the amount of cynicism with which the advert was met on twitter. I totally get those who weren’t moved by it (see previous paragraphs) but then there were tweets that actually made me quite sad. Including:

only cos it’s fairytale parenthood. Life ain’t perfect girlie, is it?

and also (upon saying I wanted to blog about it):

[...] I feel MURDEROUS when I watch it [...] can’t be doing with the schmaltzy stuff – how did he get to town, buy, sneak home, wrap, etc

So. Why so sad at something so seemingly staged (it’s a filmed advert, after all)? It’s obvious. If you live with Noah.

It’s the sort of thing he would do. It’s the sort of thing he’s already tried to do.

Last year, Noah wanted to make a cake for his dad’s birthday. Only, he realised that Daddy’s birthday was around the corner and he was going to have to exercise his resources. So he made one out of Stickle Bricks of his own accord, and presented it to his Daddy later on. “Surprise, Daddy! I made you a cake.”

When his Uncle and new Aunty got married back in September, he saw that they had been given presents on the day. On his arrival back at home, he asked me if he could make them something to give as a gift; he created one hell of a work of art (unknown to them, or anyone else but myself since he had to ask for the bits and pieces) and asked me to give it to the couple when I saw them next. When asked “why don’t you do it, Noah?” came the reply “because I’ll be at school, Mommy, and I can’t get to their house on my own. You will see them won’t you Mommy?”

In the car whilst rushing around from place to place sorting out life in general, we stopped and got both boys a McD’s Happy Meal each. Emptied the nuggets and fries into the box and passed one to Noah. He took one nugget and passed the box to Isaac; his assumption was to share the food with everyone. He looked mildly confused when we told him that box was just for him.

I hate to sound like that barfy dreamed-drugged parent whom every body hates, but the sort of stuff in that John Lewis advert does happen in our house. Fairytale parenthood? Maybe. Fairytale for some, not us. Schmaltzy? To some. Not to us. Actually, it’s quite normal for us in this house. Resourceful little boy? Yep. If Noah wants to do something, much like his stubborn mother, once he’s put his mind to it, he’ll do it. He’ll figure a way. It’s only because he hasn’t fully realised the extent to which he could go, I suspect, why he hasn’t yet gone all out.

D and I cried suddenly had itchy eyes because to us, the advert was real. We’ve seen it for real. I’m not going to sit here and judge in a holier than thou fashion, and say that other parents should have children who behave like this. On the contrary; there are kids who are gorgeous and thoughtful and stunningly delightful in just about every way I could think of, and more. But. I love this advert for making me realise how beautiful Noah’s actions actually are. Seeing it on tv like that, not necessarily enhanced, just condensed, gave D and I a very real snapshot of what we live with.

Cheesy? Possibly. Fairytale? Maybe.

All very real to us though.

Silent Sunday

Newborn Photography Halesowen Baby T Nov 11 © Jay Mountford Photography

Silent Sunday


That Moment When You Realise You Are The Parent You Said You Would Never Be

Noah is in “foundation” at school. He has been given phonics to learn since the day he started foundation. I vowed I would never, ever be That Pushy Parent. In fact, I read an article in the Daily Mail recently* which left me thinking what in the name of Lucifer are these people thinking? Why would they push their kids so insanely hard? Are they mentalists? Shall I get off my high horse now?

And I remember saying to myself “fuck that, no way am I pushing my kids that hard.”

This morning, Noah is home because he was working on his Bodily Orifice Fluid (BOF) yesterday, and so isn’t allowed to go to school. Me? I would have sent him. It’s only because he ate a gallon of fruit for breakfast and then continued to shovel food down his gullet the entire day, why we had expulsions. He was perfectly fine in himself, no complaints of aches or pains at all. So this morning I was still asking D if he was going to school.

What? I didn’t want him to miss out. Or something.

I thought maybe I was being a little bit pushy, so I let it go. Y’know, other parents would be pissed if he went in and suddenly pebble dashed the entire classroom, right? Right.

What I DIDN’T see coming, was me lying in bed thinking about getting his cello out so he can have a play. I thought that could be his musical fix, EVEN THOUGH he played on my piano last night for 15 minutes AND regularly sings songs throughout the week anyway. Not even out of bed and already planning a school day. I decided to move on, but hadn’t predicted putting on a counting and maths DVD (WHUT? It was Mickey Mouse. STFU.) quickly followed by working through a couple of pages in his maths books while I downloaded more numbers and letters apps for my iPad. I gave him a pot of crayons to attempt to write some letters and numbers. After that, I gave him his phonics cards to play around with where he casually breezed through the 19 letters he knows so far.

I swear to god, it wasn’t planned. But the fear of him falling behind from just one day off from school seemed to have permeated my brain, leaving me a shell of my former, slightly normal self, and instead there was this crazed parent, determined to get her nearly 4 year old doing quantum physics by the end of the day.

What the fuck happened? He is not even FOUR, for crying out loud. He fidgets like crazy every time I sit him down to do this stuff, and sometimes he freezes over completely when he sees the books or cards or whatever sitting on the counter. Can I blame the kid? No. Do I blame myself? Partly. And the school? Also partly. I don’t like reading his Reading Diary and seeing “Noah still doesn’t know “b”, please keep practising at home.” What in the hell do you think we’re doing? Do you not think he tries? Did it never occur to you that maybe he’s just a fraction slower than the other kids?

Not everyone is a genius.

The very fact that Noah even KNOWS the phonic sounds for 19 letter of the alphabet, pleases me immensely. He is so not stupid. I’ve never known any kid ask so many questions, and repeats the answers back to us some weeks later (after no recap). I need to give him a break. Which will happen as soon as the teachers give me a break. Sometimes a kid wants to come home from school and just be a kid. That’s no crime. Now, as soon as I can wake the fuck up and ensure that is actually happening here at home, that will be sweeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Now excuse me, Mickey Mouse is counting something else on Disney Jnr, and I need to make sure Noah is paying attention.

* Please don’t hate me The Mr sent it and I didn’t know what it linked to and I suddenly found myself on the site and I didn’t mean to be there but it just happened it was an accident I’m sorry it’s his fault.

Silent Sunday

Movember

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What is Silent Sunday?

Silent Sunday

I LOVE MEN.

“Geeze, men are so bloody useless, aren’t they? Can’t look after kids, can’t lok after a house, rubbish with chores, claim they’re dying when they’re ill…blah blah blah…”

Oscar. Mike. Golf.

If you don’t like men, go find a planet where you can procreate without them and stop bloody whining.

I recently had a PR email talking about “Man flu” and how pathetic men are for it. Picking up Isaac from school recently, they asked how come he’d changed so much in the last few weeks. When I told them I had been away and his dad had been looking after them both, they immediately started on about how useless men are and husbands can’t do squat and OMFG SHUT UP. I get so sick of hearing wives, mothers, girlfriends, women in general, whoever, constantly taking a pop at men. Personally? I LOVE men. Like, actually love them. My life would be considerably dull without them.

I suppose in this instance though, I’m referring to a selection of men whom I know personally.

My husband, for one. The Mr, or known in this house as “D”.

He’s awesome. If anyone ever dares to bitch about him, they have me to answer to. End of. The only person allowed to bitch about him is me. And that’s the law. No, his mother is not allowed to bitch about him. The end.

I could list a string of faults, but in case many had forgotten, like (most) other men, HE IS A HUMAN BEING. I suspect he might be turning into a woman though, because the other day he sent me to Sainsbury’s to buy us wine and a box of Thorntons chocolates, just so we could sit and devour them in front of the TV. No special occasion, but jus’ cos’. (We didn’t finish them, but we had a bloody good go, that’s for sure.)

But we can over look that! Especially because he cooks. And not just meals out of a jar, no. He’ll do a full Sunday roast. Voluntarily. And he does practically ALL the laundry, and will do the dishes without me asking. Sometimes he even cleans the bathroom. INCLUDING THE TOILET.

Ok, yeah, so he often spends more time in the bathroom than me, but that’s partly my fault (when we met, his “beauty” regime was a bar of Imperial Leather and a skanky old bottle of Head and Shoulders. That may have expanded to a much finer range of bathroom toiletries. Dammit.) yet I don’t regret it. At least he’s CLEAN.

And you know what else? HE HAS A PENIS. No offence, friends of Dildo Bob, but that’s better than the majority of alternatives. I laugh at women bitching about their husbands because I want to say “fine! Ditch him then. And lets see how long it takes you before you decide that plastic cock under your bed just ain’t cutting it. Literally.” Still there, eh? Yeah I thought so. Along with that penis? Big cuddly arms, with hands on the ends for groping stuff. Quite frankly? It’s always nicer when someone else is doing the groping. Especially when they know what they’re doing.

Truth is, we (women) often grab a chance to take a swipe at the “stupidity of men”. And if I’m honest, yes there are some blokes out there that make me want to pray to the Baby Jesus for the survival of the human race. But you know what? There’s a fair few women out there who make me want to slit my wrists, while singing nursery rhymes to Lucifer himself, and hoping he might make me an ice lolly of some sort. You want to jump on the train of women going around verbally bashing men? Fine! Feel free. There really are some utterly epic bastards out there.

But I won’t be joining you in shouting derogatory statements about men in general. No, I’ll be busy listening to the men in my life saying nice things and watching them being all gorgeous and stuff. Whilst I avoid cleaning the toilet.

Hah.

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