Days when only the coffee keeps you sane...

There I was, indulgently mulling over writing a post about the pros and cons of working from home and commuting. It was going to be a largely positive post, waxing lyrical about the pleasures of checking for eggs on my mid-morning tea-break, cutting the grass at lunch-time, watching the swallows swooping past my window as I held a conference call.

But then Sunday night happened and put paid to all that stuff and nonsense.

Lou Loo hasn’t been a good sleeper for a long time. Well, actually, from the word go if I’m honest. If a cow moos in the field outside her bedroom, she could be up for hours. JP, on the other hand, wouldn’t notice a herd of them charging past his bed. Sunday night would easily rank as number 2 in Lou Loo’s Top Ten of Awful Sleepless Nights, number 1 going to a night sometime in the last year (it’s a blur) when we literally didn’t get any sleep.

I think it was her first visit to the cinema on Sunday that probably did the damage. We went to see Monsters vs Aliens in Waterford that afternoon - on hindsight probably not a wise move. I thought it was going to be innocent enough, with cute, funny monsters that wouldn’t be scary at all. And mostly, it was. But the thing about a cinema is that it can be incredibly LOUD to a 2.5 year old. She coped well and cuddled into me for a lot of the movie and seemed to enjoy it overall. But, I’m learning that that is LL’s style. She looks fine, but there can be an internal mutiny bubbling away inside her and it generally breaks through the surface at night.

She started crying at 11:30pm. She finally stopped at 3am. I was due to get up for work at 5:30am.

As you can imagine, by the time I finally fell asleep at 3:30am, I wasn’t feeling too good about the prospect of the Monday commute to Dublin. But the downside of only being in the office two days per week is that you really do need to be there on those days. And with Mr G travelling to London on Tuesday and Wednesday, it made it less of an option to change my days.

So, I dragged myself out of bed at 7am for a later train, threw on some makeup and hoped for the best. When I finally reached the office, 3 hours and 2 coffees later, I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I could feel my legs moving and my fingers pressing the button on the lift, but it was like I was watching it happen from inside a bubble. At the management meeting at 10:30am, I tried to sound together and coherent, despite the fact that my brain was about 10 steps behind everyone else’s. When it was over, I retreated to the nearby cafe and enveloped myself in coffee fumes. By the time I got back to the office, I felt marginally better and began to face the day (by about lunchtime).

When I got home that evening, my ears were ringing and I felt like my head had been packed with cotton wool. Lou Loo and Mr G weren’t faring much better. JP, who had slept through the whole thing, was bounding around the garden looking for someone to play football with him. Oh, you have to smile.

So you see, collecting eggs and taking a tea-break out on the deck is wonderful, but there’s always a price to pay. Maybe one day we’ll have it all sussed, but I have a feeling that day is a long way away.

And so it begins...

It was an innocent enough start to the conversation. JP, Lou Loo and I were sitting down to lunch and the subject of our First Ever Egg (produced today with much fanfare by Maisy) came up. Mr G had explained to JP some time ago that the reason the cockerels 'sit on' the hens is to make chicks. We had seen our neighbour's cockerels do this many (many many) times during their visits to our garden.

Over lunch (obviously after much consideration) JP said quite matter-of-factly, 'So, Daddy has to sit on you to make a baby. Or lie on you, or whatever.'

Gulp.

'Kind of', I replied.

Cue bemused glances exchanged between Mr G and I across the kitchen.

'So what does he do - sit on you or lie on you?'

'Whatever he wants,' mutters Mr G, with a smirk on his face.

'So, how does the baby get made?'

Here we go... I thought I'd have another 3-4 years before having to answer that question. But we did it, sticking to the facts and being as light-hearted as possible. JP lost interest almost immediately and moved on to more important things, like battle droids and drop-ships. But I was left feeling amused and a tiny bit sad at the same time. I can remember so vividly being able to fit the whole length of him across my knees and now the sex questions are coming at us already. Did I just blink and miss the last 6 years?

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..