What should you teach your child?

And my third (or is it fourth?) night without sleep. It’s getting insane, it really is. But I realised I couldn’t do anything about it so I meditated (which some say is equivalent to sleep) and worked on fixing my back. When 6am came round, I wouldn’t say I bounced out of bed but the stabbing pains in my back had vanished and I felt a curious clarity.

There’s a different dynamic in the house when Adrian’s away. James came into my room and said he had a suggestion for the problem of the Arctic Cryochamber Breakfast Room.

‘Wear your dressing gown,’ he opined. ‘Over your clothes.’

I had to laugh. He was standing, in school uniform with a long dressing gown knotted round his waist; trousers tucked into thick socks and a pair of ankle-high furry slippers.
So I followed suit and we had breakfast looking like a rum old pair of Noel Cowards.
James switched the radio from Adrian’s beloved Radio 4 to Radio One and we danced with the dogs to the Black Eyed Peas and shook with laughter and lost track of time and nearly missed the bus.

Once again, the SP and I went over the bridge and up the hill. Shrouded in mist; fine soft kisses of moisture on the air. But the path was slick and I felt my feet slide under me. So I followed the SP up the steep rocky path, through the trees, up, up, up, feeling lighter with every step. No wulfas; no beasts at all; just bird song, rustle and footfall. To the hill fort, the fastness, surrounded by ancient ghosts and then down the steep passage known as the Chimney.

Careful walking. Walking as thoughtfulness. Thinking, thinking. Mainly about my son, my lovely son – and the man he will become. It made me ponder the principles I hope I have offered him.

I don’t believe we should inflict our ideas, our beliefs on our children. But I do think we can offer up suggestions, thoughts, possibilities. When I thought about what I would like James to take through life with him, I came down to these...

1. To your own self be true. The stormy search for the self starts young and it can be a hard path. I like to think James has enough self-esteem and self-belief that he does not need to follow the herd. That he can make his own decisions; be his own person; be happy in his skin.

2. Be independent. It’s not just practical, this one (although James is learning to cook, to clean, to wash clothes and iron them; to have responsibility for animals and his own stuff – why, oh why, do people not teach their boys this stuff?). It’s about being self-sufficient; about taking responsibility for oneself.

3. Be honest but also kind. This is about discrimination and it’s a fine line for children to learn. If your self-esteem is strong enough, there is no need to put other people down. Yes, some people are hugely irritating; bombastic; stupid; plain revolting. But hey...who are we to tell them? And that leads on to...

4. Stand up to bullies and stick up for the underdog. People who bully do so from fear, from lack of self-esteem. This chimed with James and now he stands his ground. He also stands between the bully and the bullied, even when it means going against the crowd – and for that, I am so proud of my young knight.

5. Communicate. Honestly, this is so fundamental – not just to children but to everyone. Nearly every question I answer (in my dubious role of agony aunt) comes down to this. Talk. Say what you mean. Don’t expect another person to intuit your meaning. I go over this time and again with James. He – like so many of us - imagines slights that probably aren’t there; is over-sensitive; gets the wrong end of the stick.

6. Confront your fears. Fear is the biggie; the one thing that so often stops us from achieving our potential; from being who we want to be. But, once you confront a fear, stare it straight in the eye, it often backs right down. James learned his lesson on this a few years back when he was picked for a county cricket training. Nobody he knew was there and he baulked. He’s regretted it ever since. It’s not just the physical fear either (though I must say jumping off a mountain blows away a bit of that) but psychic fear too. I have taught James how to confront his nightmares; to stand up to the monsters and ask them what they have to show him (monster comes from the Latin verb, monstrare – to show, reveal).

7. Question your thoughts. Thought can deceive. Thought can lie. Thought jumps to conclusions; turns simple dilemmas into catastrophe. ‘I got a C for English. I’m rubbish.’ ‘He looked at me funny; he hates me.’ Negative thoughts are your ego acting out of fear. Okay, so you don't need to go into that with your child but, well, you get my drift...

8. Open your heart. Ah, this is a tough one to teach a child on the verge of teenagedom as you know it will bring heartache as well as joy. But, truly, hearts are made to love. I have no doubt James’s will be broken, probably many times. But, the heart is a muscle, a spiritual as well as a physical muscle – and without breaking, it does not grow. There is huge healing and transformation in unconditional love - yes, even to those you consider enemies.  I would point out that James isn’t totally convinced on this one yet

9. Have a sense of humour. Truly, the world hates a sourpuss.

10. Know when to shut up. :-)


Sorry. Longer post than intended.
What have I missed?
What do you hope to impart to your children?
How much should we impose our thoughts and beliefs on our children?



btw, there's still time to enter the Kinect competition. Just leave a comment here

Time passing and beauty pageants

James worries about time passing. He says that time feels like it’s speeding up. I know that feeling but it worries me that he does. I don’t think I felt like that at his age. I always considered it was a mathematical thing – that, as we get older, each year is a smaller fraction of our life so far lived, so inevitably it feels shorter. But, hmm, is time speeding up?


‘I won’t be a child much longer,’ he said, sadly.
‘You’re not that old,’ I said, smiling.
‘I’m nearly a teenager.’
What?
‘I’ll be a teenager this year. And then in four years’ time...’
‘Oh stop it.’
‘Why can’t childhood last longer?’

Why indeed?

And then, as I idly clicked through Facebook, I saw that my nevermetbutmuchadored friend TL Tyson had posted a new vlog. I love her vlog. I love her, full stop. She’s a very talented writer who lives in Canada; who has just the most fecund imagination and a wild sense of humour. She’s someone who turns your thinking upside down. Anyhow, she’d posted a vlog about child beauty pageants which rams home the point about how, for some children, childhood is being cut short in a pretty dramatic way.

Watch it.



I have no words for this. It sickens me. If it sickens you too, then maybe nick the link for this and post it on your blog, your Facebook page, your Twitter account?  Can we not shame these people into stopping this travesty?

As Tee says: ‘When did child abuse become a source of entertainment?’

A small cold thing

Today I am a small cold thing. A sad lost thing. Broken, confused, battered, blue. I sit and shake, so hard I feel my bones will shatter. I cannot stop the shaking; nothing warms me. It is not a physical cold but a spiritual shivering. Shaken to the soul.

I try to sleep but I cannot. I just lie in the darkness, my mind torturing me, my body crucifying me. I hurt.

They say that the body gives us the messages we need to hear so what is mine saying? Is the lump in my throat telling me I have words caught in my gullet; words I cannot speak? What about the stabbing pain in my back? Louise Hay would say it’s about guilt, about burn out, about lack of money, about fear. I’ll claim all four and more.

When I meditate I keep falling into unconsciousness, plummeting into the void -but only for a moment so I come to with a lurch; my heart thudding. Yesterday I thought I would try to ground myself. I would journey to the lower world. I have been flying upwards for so long, shooting out into the furthest reaches of the universe; then cracking through the shell into further universes; finding myself, finding the stranger; looking into mirrors; multiplying, condensing; playing the cosmic game and...what? Winning? Losing. Looking for the card that is so high and wild?

Maybe it was time to go down.

So I found my axis mundi, my old friend, the moss-covered opening under the large beech tree and cautiously moved inside; the drum my guide. The steady beat used to hurl me down in a heartbeat. But not now. I have to walk, slowly, painfully, and the path winds slowly, seems endless. I have been away so long. And instead of the usual warmth and my beloved animal, I find a place of howling wind and loneliness. A white beach beside a frozen lake. Dark trees surround. And then I see a bear, a large brown bear. Once - afar. Twice – lumbering, its back turned. Thrice – disappearing into the trees. And then, up close, teeth bared, biting, chewing. I am dismembered and it feels wonderful. I have given up, given in, surrendered. I wait for the warm breath that will lick me whole, that will bring me back to life. But it doesn’t come. Instead shrill barking hurtles me out of the deepest trance, shocked into waking. And I am in this world, in pieces, staring at the dog that bit me.

And I am so so tired. So bone-weary that last night I went to bed at 8.30pm. Crawled under the covers and turned away from the light. And couldn’t sleep – again. Couldn’t tumble into oblivion. Couldn’t dream.

So this morning I didn’t walk in the big wide fields, by the rushing river, in the open spaces under the cool sharp sky. I crossed the bridge and went up the hill, followed the winding path into the deep dark forest. A faintly ridiculous Red Riding Hood who knows that the old warnings were all wrong. That, if one wants to find oneself, there is no point staying on the track. There is no earthly point heading for the safety of Granny’s hut; there is no sense in hoping for the big brave Hunter. She needs to plunge headlong through the trees and hope, against all hope, that the wulf will come - yes, wulf (the Anglo-Saxon spelling is truer) - and tear her to bloody pieces.

Win an XBox Kinect and YourShape

I’ve never got computer games. Never even went on Space Invaders or PacMan. Just don’t get the fun of fiddling with knobs (so to speak). I’ve watched a succession of consoles wander in and out of the house and never felt remotely tempted to pick up a joystick and join in. Okay, so once I let James persuade me to wield a light sabre in Star Wars and actually I did alright – mainly by adopting a wild spinning and slashing action.


I thought I’d like the Wii Fit but it fell short somehow. I didn’t like being confined to the balance board and coordinating nunchuks just got on my nerves. James loved it of course: mainly because he got a kick out of topping me in everything. Except for Zazen. Seems I can sit without moving a single muscle for a very long time. Who knew? 100% every time. Ker-ching.

Then along came Kinect. Some of my mates had been over to LA for the launch of this last year and had raved about it but, even so, it didn’t really register. But James had one for Christmas and I watched him play. No controllers. Just him in front of the TV.
‘You wanna have a go, Mum?’
‘Hmm, mebbe.’ (nose deep in my new Kindle)
‘C’mon. Even you can do this.’

So I stood up and it scanned me. Plotted out all my bones. Shit, do I really look like that?

You know what? It’s huge fun. We played all sorts – ducking, diving, jumping, sliding. My favourite is the one where you wave your arms to fly up to the ceiling (been trying to do that in real life for years).

Then we tried Your Shape and that was a bit of a revelation too. I’ve done aerobics classes for years, absolutely years, and I thought I had pretty good technique. Wrong. Because the Kinect is tracking your actual skeletal structure (actually I don’t want to think about how it does that too much) you can see exactly where you’re going wrong.

Is it perfect? No, of course not. But it’s damn good. I broke a serious sweat on the cardio class and the trainer is kickass on muscle toning – the squats were an absolute killer. Loved the cardio boxing and I’m impressed that it tries to persuade you to end each session with a Zen stretch.

Now, if they could just find a way to get Assassin’s Creed running on Kinect, I might really be a lost cause.


What? Oh, the competition....sorry. If you have an Xbox and would like to try out Kinect, here’s your opportunity. Ubisoft, the game developer, has promised that one of you lovely lot will win a Kinect and a copy of Your Shape. Read on....and good luck.

Here’s the official blurb bit...(not written by me - how did you guess?) 

Diary of a Desperate Exmoor Woman has teamed up with game developer, Ubisoft, to give readers the chance to win an Xbox Kinect along with a copy of Your Shape: Fitness Evolved.

Your Shape's groundbreaking camera tracking technology completely changes the fitness experience, providing users with an unprecedented level of accuracy and efficiency. Unlike other games, Your Shape’s proprietary Player Projection technology puts your body into the game for the ultimate fitness experience. You will physically interact with virtual environments in ways you’ve never seen before and you’ll be captivated by unique and exciting visual effects that respond to your movements and impact.

To be in with a chance to win all you have to do is view the Your Shape Discover Your Shape (‘Toned Body’) video clip on their home page at http://yourshapecenter.uk.ubi.com/ and then come back here to answer the following simple question:

Question: How many new classes does Your Shape’s Cardio Boxing Platinum offer?

• 3
• 4
• 5

Post your answer in the comments below...

Please note that the Xbox 360 console is NOT included in the prize bundle.  Also, sadly, the prize can only be sent out to a UK address.  The competition will close on 10th February.

Bitten

Yesterday wasn't the best of days, to put it mildly. It hadn't been the best of weeks really. Adrian went up to London on Monday for the Telegraph party then headed straight off for Wales leaving me, the boy, the dogs and the roofer. There was a leak in the breakfast room but it seemed like a pretty standard job. Except...


‘Look up there,’ said Gary, pointing up at the exposed innards of the bay. I peered; couldn’t see a thing.
‘The wood’s all rotten.’
‘Oh.’

So the quick job turned into the major job, necessitating carpenters and builders and scaffolding. And the dogs were going ballistic and any thought of trying to get on with the total rewrite of my book went out the window.
Then Gary knocked at the back door and I backed out of my study, trying to keep the dogs inside and Asbo went mental and bit me – hard – on the knee.

I ignored it, dealt with Gary, made the guys a cup of tea but it hurt like hell and when I took a look I felt a bit sick. It was a pretty deep bite with blood seeping all over. I bunged some tea tree oil and a plaster on it and shook pretty dramatically for a bit. Then wondered if I ought to get it looked at. Asked on Twitter (source of all knowledge) and was inundated with people yelling at me.

‘Can you come in right away?’ asked the receptionist at the surgery. So I did. Seems they take dog bites pretty seriously.
‘I can’t stitch it,’ said the nurse. ‘In case of infection. But I’ll tape the wound closed. Oh, and the doctor says you need a week’s course of antibiotics.’
‘Really?’
‘Afraid so.’

Having spent the last week fending off a throat infection with chakra toning and oregano oil, it seemed pretty ironic that I was getting the darn things anyhow. Karma bites again. Payback for all the snarling on Monday.

‘They’re pretty strong, so you might get thrush,’ she carried on, jauntily.
‘Oh great.’
‘Just take lots of live yoghurt.’
‘I eat that anyway.’
She frowned. ‘I didn’t mean eat it.’ She gave a downwards glance.
‘Oh.’
‘Yup.’
‘Right. So maybe not the cherry variety then?’

She shook her head patiently.  So hey ho, there we go.

Oh, almost forgot. We now have a new addition to the canine crew. Meet Jakey. Jakey is a liver and white fluffy coated springer spaniel cross. He’s seven years old and loves rolling in mud. At this point I can imagine you are all (especially Milla) clasping hands to foreheads in total despair. Let me explain.

A while back we were sent the Cats and Dogs movies on DVD. As an extra little gift, Ellie Graham, the lovely PR from THINKJAM asked if we’d like her to sponsor a dog on our behalf with the Dogs Trust. James was well up for this and Jakey is the result. If you’ve got children (but can’t have a dog) this is such a great idea. We received a little dossier on Jakey (and apparently we’ll hear from him three times a year). You also get a year’s worth of WAG! Magazine (no, not football nonsense, the Dog’s Trust’s organ), a fridge magnet and a window sticker.

The Dog’s Trust look after 16,000 dogs a year.  If you are thinking of getting a dog, maybe think about rehoming one, rather than buying a puppy?

‘Can we visit Jakey,’ asked James, with a glint in his eye.
‘Nope. Afraid not.’

Sensible, sensible Dog’s Trust!

For more info check out www.sponsoradog.org.uk

Where are we going?

Where are we going?  Oh, good question. Where ARE we going? But, fear not, I’m not about to launch into a metaphysical rant. Not today. Well, not yet.

A parcel arrived, a big fat satisfying parcel.

I opened it and found a box. With a label that read, simply, Jane.
I opened the box and found a book. A beautiful book, filled with 3-D pop-up pictures.
It asked one simple question: Where are we going?
Ah, you know me. I was entranced. I turned the page.

The story started in the town with two children. They asked their house where they should go.

'The forest,' said the house.

So they went to the forest. But it was dark and scary. And full of strange creatures that came out at night. So they asked the bear.
‘Follow the wind,’ said the bear.
So they followed the wind, and it led them to the beach. But the waves were too big and the seashells were too small.
So they asked the beach, which sent them to the country and then they asked the country which offered some sensible advice.
‘You should ask each other.’

So they sat there in silence for a moment. Then they looked at each other, and at the same time they said, ‘the mountains!’
‘We should have thought of this a long time ago.’

And on the final page there was a little flap saying ‘Pull up’. So I did.

‘Oh wow,’ I said. ‘It’s a phone.’
‘That’s not a phone,’ said James, peering over my shoulder. ‘That’s a Nokia N8.’ Very much in the tones of Ron Weasley explaining to Harry that he’s just been given the very latest broomstick (clearly wasted on such a philistine).
‘But Jims,’ I said, flipping back through the pages. ‘Look at the book and the case and all. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone. ‘Mum, you’ve just been given a kickass phone and you’re looking at a measly book? I give up.’
I smiled and ruffled his hair. And read the note...
‘Oh, okay. They want us to test out Ovi Maps.’
‘Cool.’

James, of course, knew all about Ovi and he knew all about Own Voice for Ovi Maps.
‘It’s wicked. You know how you get the usual horrid SatNav voice?’
I did. It was one of the reasons I’ve never had SatNav – apart from the fact that I quite like getting lost.
‘Well, Own Voice lets you download your – er, own voice. So you could have me telling you where to go.’

I can think of a fair few people who’d like to tell me where to go but the idea of my lovely son doing the directing sounded appealing.

Being twelve he did the whole thing in next to no time and, actually, it was very simple. You just have to repeat a whole list of phrases in whatever manner you fancy.
‘Follow the course of the road,’ he yelled.
‘Do you have to shout?’
‘You won’t listen otherwise.’
Fair enough.

‘Turn left’ (in a Geordie accent. Why?)
‘Turn right.’ (in a Scouse accent. Again, why?)
‘You’ve reached your destiny.’
‘What?’
‘Oh sorry. I’ll do that one again. You’ve reached your destination.’
‘I have?’
‘You WILL reach your destination.’
‘Oh good.’

I suppose it took about ten minutes all told and now I just laugh whenever I hear it. I don’t exactly need SatNav round here but I turn it on just to hear my boy telling me, in no uncertain terms, to ‘Go straight ahead’ or ‘take the THIRD exit’. And it’s reassuring when he tells me that I will reach my destination, my destiny, my whatever.


Seriously, this is very neat and you really should check it out. You don’t have to record your child (though I’m thinking it would be great for parents who’re away on the road a lot, or for grandparents, or godparents). You could get a bunch of mates round and have a bevy of voices telling you which way to go. Alternatively, you could record your own voice using a bunch of different accents – though, frankly, I wouldn’t trust my own directions.

Or, failing all that, there are ready-made voice packs you can download: Drill Sergeant, Racing Commentator, Back Seat driver, Hairdresser... My favourite is the Gospel Choir...and the one that would really drive me nuts is the Vocoder with its ‘disco driving’

It’s dead simple – you simply install Ovi Maps and then get Own Voice to your phone from Ovi Store. It really does just guide you through the process – and, if you like, you can share your voice with the world...

http://ownvoice.comms.ovi.com/ovi/


Let's end with a little Diana....
And a question.
Do YOU know where you're going to?
Where would  you LIKE to be going to?  Do you know? 

I'm growling...

How you doing?’ called Sandy as I prowled into the gym. She was going hell for leather on the treadmill: I had a face like thunder.

‘I’m growling,’ I snarled.
‘Oooh, like a terrier?’
‘Like a rabid terrier,’ I replied, jumping on a rowing machine and setting off down the river at the speed of a power boat.
‘Not warming up then?’
‘I’m already at boiling point.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s got your goat this morning?’
‘Me. Just me. I’m angry with me.’

And I am. I am so so furious with myself I could beat myself up. Except – ho hum - I already do that perfectly well on an ongoing basis.

Is it a woman thing? Is it a mother thing? Or is it just a me thing? I’ve gone through sad and depressed and now I am just steaming furious. I am sick of being a people pleaser, of playing Mrs Nice, of being the supporting cast, of being all things to all people, of always putting myself last. I’m sick to the back teeth of being treated like dog shit; of being kicked in the face by the proverbial boot, over and over again – and just effing well taking it. Not just taking it even but lying down in the mud and pointing to my head and heart and guts and saying ‘kick there’; go on, kick a bit harder. I’m sick of it all.

Okay, that’s it. I could go on but I won’t. I shall retreat to my Growlery (shamelessly appropriated from Zoe) and shall leave you with some music... Normal service will soon be resumed but today, just for today – I’d stay well away.