Children

I have a terrible confession. One of my major triggers, one of the things most likely to make me want to dive headfirst into a vat of fermented grapes, was..... my own children.

Don't get me wrong. I love the little blighters, obviously. And bringing them up is a constant delight and adventure. I would happily take a bullet or fight a tiger with my bare hands for them.

However, bringing up children is hard - at least I found it so.

There's the endless repetition (say please, wipe your nose, don't forget to flush the loo), the boredom (pushing swings for hours, pureeing vegetables, picking cereal off the floor), the frustration (what do you mean you can't remember where you left your book bag?)

It's no wonder that by the end of the day so many of us are gasping for a glass of vino (or, let's face it, a bottle).

But, slowly, slowly, all of these everyday stresses have got much easier since I quit. It is, I promise you, the case that the booze only increases the levels of anxiety, the lack of patience and the bad temper.

(See my post: Reasons to Quit Drinking #6: Because You're a Parent).

These days, the SM household is (relatively) calm. Zen. You hardly ever hear any shouting. A situation which seemed inconceivable this time last year.

There are, however, still child related things that push every one of my buttons, that have me longing for the Chablis, even after all this time.

(I generally end up eating a slice of cake bigger than my head and drinking twice as much Becks Blue as usual).

What I find most tricky is watching my children navigate major hurdles in life and not being able to help them. This inevitably comes with an awful lot of self blame, as I decide that, for some reason, it's all my fault.

A few months ago, for example, one of my kids was being bullied in the playground. I wanted to tear the limbs off the culprit one by one, and he was only a nine year old boy.

I spent hours debating strategies to solve the problem, and days berating myself, thinking that I must have done something that made my child look like a victim.

And this week has been a horribly hard one to navigate sober because it's exam week.

#1 has no issue with exams. She sails through them in a calmly ordered flotilla of revision timetables, colour coded notes and sharpened pencils, usually coming top.

#2 is a different matter. Trying to get him to concentrate on revision for longer than thirty minutes is almost impossible. So, despite that fact that he does really well in IQ tests, he struggles to get even average marks in exams.

He's not worried. He's perfectly happy, so long as he doesn't come bottom. And even that wouldn't bother him too much. But I wind myself up into a little stress ball, and - again - blame myself for not helping or inspiring him enough.

There are two things that I've found helpful:

One is remembering to be grateful.

My children are healthy and happy, and that's really all that matters.

I know that sounds terribly obvious, but it's amazing how seeing the things to be thankful for in a situation can completely diffuse it.

(For more on the power of being grateful see my post: Gratitude).

The second is reminding myself that they are not me. All three are totally different from me and each other. The way they work, how they think, what motivates them is not the same as me.

My job is to advise, nurture, encourage, but not to do it for them. Their failures are not my fault, in the same was as their successes are entirely their own, and - what's more - they need a few failures to learn from.

At least there's one thing I know for sure: this week wouldn't have been any easier if I'd been drinking through it. It would have been a hell of a lot worse. There would have been yelling and tears (theirs and mine). And that really wouldn't have helped.

For more on sober parenting, and all the ups and downs of the sobercoaster, check out NoWayRose's fabulous new blog by clicking here.

Love to you all,

SM x

Family Time

We've just had a lovely, sunny, three day weekend here in the UK.

In the old days, this would have been a great excuse to drink like a fish.

I'd, obviously, have overdone it on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings, and I'd have found excuses to start drinking by midday, continuing on for much of the afternoon.

By now I'd be feeling like death, and would have slunk into a pit of despair.

But these days my Bank Holiday weekends are all about family.

It struck me recently that I've spent much of the last decade trying to avoid my children. Isn't that terrible?

I would look for day time activities at weekends where they could play happily somewhere, while I would sit and watch from the side lines with some adult friends and lots of booze.

In the evenings, I would try to feed them relatively early, then there would then be a frantic rush, with lots of kicking and screaming, to get the children into bed 'on time' so that Mr SM and I could settle down for a boozy, 'adult' dinner a deux.

Over a bank holiday weekend I'd often arrange a 'family lunch.'

These generally involved inviting round another 'bon viveur' family. We'd eat lunch with the children down one end of the table and grown ups down the other, then pack them off to watch a movie/destroy the house, while we got really stuck in to the vino.

They'd leave at around 5pm (and probably stop drinking at that point), I'd keep on going until I eventually passed out on the sofa at around 10pm.

Despite the 'family lunch' description, I'd have spent barely any time at all actually talking to any of the children.

This weekend was different.

I booked tickets for us all to go to a wonderful Roald Dahl exhibition on South Bank. We then had lunch by the river, and walked along the Thames, pointing out St Paul's Cathedral and Big Ben, and ogling all the street performers.

We stopped, along with over a hundred other onlookers, to watch an amazing Australian escapologist doing a Houdini style show. He picked two young men out of the crowd to help tie him up. Then he looked around for a female assistant and....picked me!

The smalls were thrilled that Mummy got to be a star in a show and we all had a ball. (I lied when he asked me my name, so every time he addressed me as 'Sheila' the children cracked up).

Our evenings are different now too. Instead of wrestling wide awake children into bed too early, we've relaxed all the rules for non school nights. We all eat together, and we find programmes on TV that we can all enjoy.

The current favourite is Britain's Got Talent.

(Runners up are The Durrells and The Wives of Henry VIII - which counts as revision, and the children love the gore and sex references. You need to watch this sober, as you get thrown questions like "what does he mean 'Anne Boleyn had relations with her own brother'?")

So, Saturday night, I invited a friend and her daughter round, we ordered in a takeaway curry and we all watched Britain's Got Talent, piled onto cushions in the playroom, with much cheering and booing.

None of the smalls got to bed before 10pm, there was no 'adult time', just one big mess of family.

But that's the way I like it now. And, needless to say, so do the kids.

Hugs to you all,

SM x

P.S. Thank you all so much for your messages yesterday. You, and just the act of writing down my fears, helped enormously. I am 90% sure I've just strained my arm (probably as a result of an over-enthusiastic dog on a lead), and I'm not going to die (yet). I know that these cancer fears will fade in time, just like the wine witch does when you quit the booze....

Why?

One of the (many) benefits of sober life is that when your children ask you tricky questions - about sex, drugs, relationships or morals - you can be properly on your toes, and able to give it your best shot.

It's also easier to advise them about risky behaviours and self care without feeling like a hypocrite.

The other day, #1 and I were taking the dog for a walk.

"Mummy, " she asked me, out of the blue, "why did you get cancer?"

The thing to remember about this kind of conversation, is that they don't really come out of the blue. They've probably been fretting about it for ages, and waiting for the right moment, and the courage, to bring it up.

You need to think about why they're asking.

Thinking fast (and soberly - whoop whoop), I concluded that #1 might be worried that she'll get it herself one day, or worried that I'll get it again. Probably both.

The side benefit of being thrown a question like this one, is that it gives you permission to throw back a little, barely disguised, lecture on lifestyle choices....

"Well," I replied, taking a deep breath, "for a start, you mustn't worry. You know that horrid, genetic breast cancer that Angelina Jolie's mother had? The one that runs in families? It's called BRCA1&2."

She nods.

"I was tested for that, and I don't have it. As far as they can tell, my cancer is not genetic. Not hereditary."

"So, why you then?"

"Sometimes these things are just bad luck, but there are some major risk factors. Smoking is a biggie as you know, (hard stare for re-enforcement) but I quit fifteen years ago, thank God. Being overweight and eating badly is another, but that wasn't really me either....

"......the only thing I did which could have caused my breast cancer is I drank too much alcohol."

"But you haven't drunk for ages, and you never drank very much anyway," she replied, vehemently.

And, reader I confess, I could have spoken up and corrected her, but I was so thrilled at being portrayed in her memories as a moderate drinker that I said nothing.

"Well, recent studies have shown that even one or two glasses of wine a day can hugely increase your chances of getting breast cancer," I told her.

"But now I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I eat super healthily, so there's no way I'm getting pesky cancer again.

"Just remember, what you eat, drink and put in your body matters. Everything in moderation - that's the key."

Ha ha ha. SM preaching moderation. Who'd have thought?

So, try not to worry too much about your children. The thirteen months I've been sober feels like an eternity to mine, they can barely remember the before.

And children do have the ability to re-write history in a way we can only dream of.

SM x

Pride

I went to collect #2 and #3 from school this afternoon.

I took an overnight bag with me for #2, as he's been invited to spend the night with his bestie.

His teacher pulled me aside and said "The boys told me that they're having a hangover tonight! It's a cross between 'hanging out' and a 'sleepover', apparently. I asked them if they knew what a hangover was. They said no, so I told them that Mummy and Daddy would probably know."

(Ain't that the truth!)

"The boys both blushed, and said 'Is it what Mummy and Daddy did to make us?' It was a rather awkward classroom moment!"

How hysterical is that?

My son has no idea what a hangover is. And you know what? I can't remember feeling so proud!

(He obviously needs to work on his Biology, however).

Happy Friday, everyone.

SM x

Alcohol and Parenting

I'm not a great parent.

I was astounded when they allowed me to walk out of the hospital with a helpless, newborn baby twelve years ago.

"Where's the instruction manual?" I wanted to shout. "I have no idea what I'm doing here! I'm an amateur!"

They say it takes a village to raise a child. And in the old days you would be surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings who would all help teach you, and your offspring, how to do the growing up thing.

These day we are much more geographically spread out. We don't have the same support network of older, wiser women.

We muddle along, confused by the conflicting advice of the 'experts,' like Gina Ford and Supernanny. We rely on our girlfriends (who are also making it up as they go along), and smug, self righteous strangers on the internet.

Just as we start to feel like we're getting good at the whole baby thing, we suddenly have school aged kids, and a whole new set of challenges. Start feeling a bit more able to cope with those, then BAM - they grow a foot, a crop of pimples and become smelly, hormonally challenged teenagers!

It's no wonder we need a good glass (gallon) of vino at the end of the day.

It's only now that I see what a useless parenting prop alcohol is....

I was putting the children to bed last night, when I realised that my house is now peaceful. Nobody shouts. This is a major change from few months ago.

When the children were small, I would get them into bed by 7pm. The bedtime routine was pretty exhausting - tea, bath, milk, nappies, stories, cuddles etcetera, times three. But then I could sink back into an armchair, with hours of 'grown up time' stretching ahead of me.

As the children grew up, however, bedtime got later and later, and wine o'clock crept earlier and earlier.

My evenings would go something like this:

5.30pm - children all home from various schools and after school activities. Pour glass of vino while making kids supper.

6.30pm - Pour second glass of vino while trying, in vain, to get them to focus on their homework.

7.30pm - Pour third glass of wine while getting them in and out of bath and ready for bed.

By this time it would be around 8pm, and I'd be trying to do bedtime stories and get supper ready for husband while getting more exhausted, frazzled and - let's face it - drunk.

The combination of tired, stressed and drunk would lead, inexorably, to SHOUTING!

By the time Mr SM was back from work (at around 8.30pm) I'd be yelling at the three children in rotation, desperate to get them into bed as quickly as possible so I could sit down with the husband and share a(nother) civilized bottle of vino with dinner.

But one thing I've now learned about bringing up children is that the only real way to teach them is by example.

You can't tell a child not to swear, then swear like a trooper around them. You can't teach them manners and kindness if you don't display them yourself. If you show them that alcohol is necessary to have fun and to relax they'll believe it. And if you yell all the time then so do they....

So we did not have a peaceful house. I would yell, and the kids would all yell. At each other. At me. At their father.

The mornings involved just as much shouting as the evenings, as I'd be tired and grumpy, and the getting ready for school routine was all just a bit much.

But now I don't mind that the children aren't going to bed until 9pm. I enjoy having the extra time with them. We spend ages over stories. I teach them how to cook while getting supper ready for Mr SM. We chat about our days. I'm not constantly trying to get rid of them.

And mornings? I love them! I wake the children up by saying "Wakey wakey! It's another glorious day!" I am punch-ably chirpy.

I hardly ever shout any more. And if the children ever do, I say, very quietly, "Please don't shout. We don't shout in this house." And I am not being hypocritical.

I am still very much a work in progress as far as parenting goes, but I have, at last, created a home that feels happy, relaxed and peaceful. It's still sometimes very noisy, but that's because we're laughing and dancing to bad disco music.

If anyone was ever foolish enough to ask me to write a parenting manual, the very first page would say: Put down the vino. It is not your friend. Alcohol and children mix like oil and water. The wine witch is not Mary Poppins....

Love SM x

Related post: Cravings and Tantrums