Patience and Tolerance.

Some have oodles of patience and tolerance. 

In what feels like a distant past (although it could have been last month) I think I had these very useful parenting attributes. I even had the benign gentle smile that works in tandem with patience and tolerance – that smile which I could adopt at short notice to cover up the domestic carnage that a family of 5 boys and two adults goes through just to get out of the house with all required body parts covered up, no bloody noses and hopefully with my cardigan on the right way around.

I was so good at that smile it was like driving an automatic car  - my body knew when to change to this socially acceptable gear without any messaging trips to my brain.

In appearance this smile is quite characterless and humourless. It can say a number of things or nothing at all if one cares to enquire. For example it can say ‘don’t ask me which team my twin sons are playing in the next round of their rugby league because I don’t know’ or ‘don’t ask me which piano grade my 12 year old is doing or when because I don’t know’ or ‘please don’t glower at me when my 4 yr old gives his big brother a left hook as he tries to snatch his dad’s mobile phone from him because in fact…I didn’t see that happen and actually my mind has moved to big global issues like whether a one state solution in Israel will ever be achieved and what on earth does Tony Blair do as Special Envoy to the Middle East? Why is he special? Huh, Eh Tony try bringing peace talks to these stick-wielding, wrestling, knee-jerking clutch of future Google programmers - then you might make peace inroads in the Middle East.

So with grinding consideration I have decided that this benign smile is far too passive aggressive and an untrue form of communication. It’s not what it seems and I must ‘practice what I preach’ in this responsibility laden arena of child rearing.  If worn too often one could become aloof and untouchable. Why not just be up front and admit everything isn’t rosy and grand rearing 5 lads  - moving forward I will only bring  out 'the smile' for very special occasions or in times of extreme emotional crises when it’s just too distressing for the listener to have to hear why I feel like doing any or all of the following  - checking into a spa retreat for 4 days just because I’m worth it, eating my youngest son’s weight in hydrogenated fats, driving around the block more times than is healthy with Alanis Morrisette blaring her lyrics through the car…I can relate to being [I’m sane but I'm overwhelmed, I'm lost but I'm hopeful, baby].

After my 4^th lap around the block I return home feeling convinced that [what it all comes down to is that everything's gonna be fine, fine, fine…cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket and other one is giving a high-five] Thanks Alanis for memories of what it was like before school lunch boxes and the shrilling experience of piano duet practice with the 8 year olds.

We decided to go out for lunch on Sunday.  Everyone was physically tired after sporting activities and a school sponsored walk on Saturday.  Summer exams are looming for the 14 yr old. He’s finding it hard to focus and he knows he’s heading into 3 weeks of his parents badgering him to do ‘effective studying’. I notice he’s already making himself invisible around the house and avoiding ‘kitchen time’ where pending family agendas get discussed.  Admittedly I’m also not in the mood for 'effective studying' and I'm too hungry for the discipline and organization that I need to instill around this task. It would mean suggesting a quiet activity for the younger ones and trying to instill calm in the house. I’m preoccupied fantasizing about roast chicken and chips in a basket with a cold restorative glass of Coke. Off we trundle to a local country Inn renowned for this aforementioned dish. The seating arrangements are perfect for a family of 7 in the bar area as they have relatively long tables with comfortable padded benches either side. We arrive before the lunch rush and procure the best table close to the open fire. The boys are in good form. I feel calm and relieved not to be standing at our Aga wondering how to invent a good meal from leftovers and poorly stocked cupboards. We order our Cokes and my husband nips over to the shop to buy the papers. I’m attempting to deflect our lunch conversation away from WIFI connections, mobile phone apps and sports so I try launching into some politics….’I mean this is kind of studying right?’ I think as the parenting guilt sinks in We try and work out the ‘who, when, what, why, where’ surrounding the posters for local elections and European elections – a matrix we’re not knowledgeable enough to work out. ‘I think I’m politically ‘apathetic’ and ‘cynical’ on domestic political affairs’, I vaguely tell the family….the children look at me blankly but all is not lost as the twins now know two new words that  they can use in their ‘new word’ list  for next week’s homework. Academia by osmosis is your best friend when it works.

We enjoy our main courses and allow the 4 yr old his 21^st century addiction – my husband’s mobile phone equipped with the latest buzz games so all is peaceful and well with the world. That is until the 14 yr old springs forward with his latest incendiary question that we as adults only think but not say. Just to put you in the picture, he’s great at these conversation stoppers and has been known to put our extended family into moments of cold war with his flame throwing remarks.

Sitting back tapping his fingers on the table, assuming the posture of the gentle interrogator he nonchalantly says

‘So when you two divorce who’s going with who, I mean you have far too many children and it’s not possible for one of you to look after 5 of us?’

I say’ Honestly, why are you asking such a question?’

My husband says ‘Well I don’t know about you lot but I’m going with your Mum’, you’ll all just have to work out the rest yourselves.

The 12 yr old goes ‘See, I told you, he prefers Mum to us’

The 14yr old says ‘Well it’s 2.2 for me…and I’ll be living in the city, 5 is just ridiculous….well, maybe…I think…’

These are wise words from the boy’s mouth. Rearing kids can be ridiculously exhausting and funny especially if they are 5 boys between the ages of 4 and 14.