Whose social life is it anyway?

I'm beginning to realise that JP (6) is turning into a paradox all by himself. He is - not unlike his dad - a sociable loner.

Since he started school last year, we've noticed a few things..

A. He has lots of friends. This is borne out by the jostling that happens when they all emerge from school at the end of the day and he's happily in the middle of it all.
B. When we're out at family outings, lots of children want to play with him, dragging him off to chase them or be thrown into prison. It never seems to matter which.
C. He gets invited to so many birthday parties that I have trouble keeping track.

In other words, he's relatively popular and seems nonchalantly comfortable with it all.

However, paradoxically, he loves his own company and is entirely happy to be alone, in peace and playing quietly with his stuff at home. He has zero interest in taking up any sport / activities that would drag him away from home and would quite happily stay put 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, if it wasn't for the inconvenient business of going to school. As a result, weekends in our house often end up like this..

Me: What would you like to do today?
JP : Em.. play with my Lego.
Me: Would you like to go to football?
JP : No
Me : What about a swimming lesson?
JP : No
Me : Will we go to the park and explore?
JP : No. I just want to stay at home and relax.
Me : Ah go on. You'll like it. Let's go.
JP collapses into tears and starts kicking things.

The strange thing is that, instead of being thrilled, I really struggle with the fact that he's so happy at home. I keep hearing about all of the activities that other children do and feel that maybe he's missing out, that maybe in a couple of years he'll be behind his friends in terms of sporting or social skills. I always promised myself that I wouldn't succumb to the pressure exerted by the perceived norm in relation to what children should be doing and when. That I would allow JP and Lou Loo the chance to relax and just be children. But it's still nagging away at me in the background and I guess I'm beginning to realise that it's my own hangups about fitting in that are having a bearing on how I'm feeling, rather than any real reason for concern about JP.

Mr G keeps repeating 'he's only six', 'he's only six', to reassure me. My sister, who has 4 busy almost-teenage children, tells me to enjoy the time with JP at home, as soon he'll be out and about all of the time and I'll be sick to the back teeth of chauffeuring him around.

I know they're right, but I still can't help worrying.. then again, I guess that's my job for life. Whether I like it or not.

New mantra for the day - 'let my children be themselves', 'let my children be themselves', 'let five builders free themselves'.. yawn. Time for bed I think..

Mr G’s Best Fluffy White Rolls

Mr G has always loved bread and has, over recent months, been learning how to bake his own. Below is the recipe he has found to produce the lightest, floury rolls yet. I made a big batch on Sunday to feed the workers (and children) at lunchtime and they went down really well with bacon (rashers) and sausages.

Ingredients

1lb strong white flour
1 tablesp sugar
1 tablesp salt
1 oz lard
1 sachet of dried yeast
¼ pint milk
¼ pint water

Recipe

Warm the milk in a pan until it is just hot enough to touch with your finger. Empty the sachet of dried yeast into the milk, stir and leave for 10 minutes or until it froths on the surface.

Mix together in a large bowl the flour, sugar and salt. Rub in the lard until it is fully blended with the flour mixture.

Warm the water a little, make a well in the flour and pour the water into it. Add the milk & yeast when ready and mix all of the ingredients together loosely with your hands. Turn the mixture out onto a board and knead for 10 minutes. Put back into the bowl and leave (we put a clean tea towel over the bowl) in a warm place for an hour to rise.

When the dough has risen, remove from the bowl and roll into small balls (about a third smaller than you would want the rolls to be, as they will rise further). Cover each roll with flour by putting the flour in your hand and rolling the ball of dough in it. Place all of the rolls on a baking tray (or two) and cover with the tea towel again. Leave for another 45 minutes or so.

Heat the oven to 200C. If you want to dust the rolls with poppy seeds, brush the top with a little water and sprinkle the seeds on them. Place the trays in the oven for 12 – 15 minutes. The rolls are done when they have turned a light, golden colour and sound hollow when you turn them over and tap them.

It may sound like a lot of effort, but the work involved actually only takes about 20 minutes... the rest of the time is taken up by the rising of the dough and you’re free to do other stuff during that time! In order to make these, we need to be home for the morning and start the process by about 9am / 9:30. The result is well worth the effort though, as the rolls are delicious and light and are always gobbled up by any children who are around!

If you're not too familiar with kneading, the link below gives a fairly good idea of how to do it.

http://breadbaking.about.com/od/beginnerbasics/ht/kneadhowto.htm

Chickenopolis

We’re one step closer to having our own little flock of hens in the garden. This weekend, our friend Mr H (sometimes affectionately referred to as ‘God’ in relation to all things DIY) built a lovely little hen house for us and then came around to help Mr G to build the enclosure on Sunday. It was a glorious day and Mr H’s son, A, who is JP’s best friend (they’ve known each other since they were bumps) came around and he and JP didn’t stand still all day other than to eat, pee or guard a goal. I was holding fort in the kitchen while the men did manly things like sawing timber and hammering nails into chicken wire. Lou Loo pottered around in the garden and came in for company every now and again. Our neighbour’s hens decided to see what all the commotion was about and spent a lot of time investigating the new enclosure and generally getting in the way.

On Monday (due to St Patrick’s Day on Tuesday, we were all off), JP, Lou Loo and I spent the morning painting the hen house. I have to admit to calling Mr G in after a while though to remove Lou Loo, as all she was really doing was dunking her brush into the paint and then creating a trail of big blobs on the ground on the way to the wood. She meant well, but it was getting a bit messy and I was heading towards a bad mood. Mr G took her inside and brought me a big mug of coffee. JP wandered off a little while later to play inside.

The air was still, the coffee was strong and hot and I was getting a job done in peace... not bad for a Monday morning.

Coming home..

The days in Dublin are fairly long (up at 5:30am, leave the house at 6:30am and get home at 8:30pm), so I miss JP and Lou Loo. But driving home in the evening from the train station, I can feel my insides unfurl and a sense of peace settling on me, just knowing that I'll be with them again. It's funny how I spend so much time imagining Mr G and I having time to ourselves, but being away from JP and Lou Loo still just feels wrong.

JP is usually awake when I get in, so I go and sit on the edge of his bed as he sleepily recounts the highlights of his day (the number of goals scored at break time usually holds the number one spot). He's a very tactile little person and likes to climb onto my lap for a 'snuggle', folding his long legs against his chest. He doesn't fit so easily there any more. Scary.

Lou Loo is usually asleep and I tip-toe into her room for a peek. She sleeps on her side most of the time, her arm draped over Rollo, the teddy we bought for her at Hamleys in London last Summer.

Tomorrow's my regular day off and she and I have a Friday morning ritual of tea and cake at the cafe, just the girls. Can't wait.

Ok, off to rustle up a Bacardi on ice to celebrate the end of the week!

Sigh. Ain't life grand...

The Recession Diet

Little did I know that all it would take for me to lose a few pounds would be to have the company I work for make a couple of hundred people redundant.

As is the case with most women, I've been alternating over recent months between starving and gorging myself in a bid to lose the last couple of pounds between me and my target weight. (I use target in the loosest sense.. it keeps shifting by a pound or two depending on what mood I'm in). It's been a struggle, as I love those afternoon baking sessions with Lou Loo, watching her stand on her tip toes on her steps, 'helping' me to weigh and mix ingredients, her floury fingers scooping the mixture out of the bowl so that she can have a taste. The downside is that I usually end up trying out what we've baked (over and over again), just to make sure that it tastes ok.

But about a week ago, the negative effects of all of our baking were virtually cancelled out by the gut-wrenching, nerve-destroying situation of me having to tell people that they don't have a job any more. It's one sure way of putting you off your food.

I can only imagine that what I've gone through as the bearer of bad news is just a fraction of the anguish and distress felt by those who have been selected for redundancy, but it's been incredibly difficult. I've been walking around in a fog most of the time, like many people in the office, while trying to be strong and show some degree of leadership to the team. In some ways, it's a relief to get away and work at home for two days.

My appetite is coming back slowly, but I can feel that my hips are already an inch or two closer to where I want them to be.

I can think of many easier ways of getting there though..

Ronaldo the Snowman

One of the really cool things about working from home is that you can take a couple of hours off to do absolutely essential things with your children, like snowman-building, and get straight back to work afterwards.

In February, we had a rare and fabulous fall of snow that turned the garden and surrounding fields into a true winter wonderland. I told my boss that I was taking some time off and JP, Lou Loo and I got kitted out and went outside to get down to the serious business of building a snowman. The only trouble was that it was a little too cold to stay outside for very long, so he ended up being on a tad on the diminutive side.

Nevertheless, he was christened with a suitably noble name, reflecting JP's current fascination with all things football (btw, he's not a Man U fan really - he just likes the colour red).