It was a fantastic weekend, hot enough even for my South African wife. I spent most of the weekend in our family size paddling pool. The picture on the box shows a large nuclear family of impossible beauty having a pleasant play in the water but the reality of the pool for me was that I spent saturday afternoon being waterboarded by a three and four year old. I can see immediately how waterboarding is effective as an interrogation technique and also why it is illegal. Every time you come up for air you get forced back under or have a bucket of water poured over your nose and mouth. It makes you very easy to manipulate and although my two sons were obviously not trying to elicit intelligence from me, had they been more savvy, I would have agreed to all kinds of Christmas presents; it's a good job they still believe in Santa.
Despite my initial objections to the cost, the pool has been a useful purchase although it requires some maintenance and close supervision with small children. It has attracted many mums and their offspring to our house and I came home on Friday afternoon to find half a dozen slightly flushed moms sat enjoying "Wine Club" in my garden. It was not long ago that finding a group of drunken women and a swimming pool would have been like entering Valhalla but on this occasion the myriad of their children running amok like the tribe from Lord of the Flies was my main focus. What surprises me most about this recurring scene is not the dent the ladies make in my wine rack, but the amount of sun cream they rub on their ghostlike children. In contrast, my two sons looklike lightly grilled sausages. Even our baby looks tanned in comparison.
I do not understand this fear of the sun. I grew up in Yorkshire where the Sun god rarely visits and every time his presence was felt we children were ushered outside to "get some sun" and, as a parent, I can now see the merit in this. Obviously, sun burn is not good but this is Britain, the sun is not that strong. Medical research has linked problems in later life arising from a lack of sunshine such as rickets and MS. MS, for example, is more prevalent in Scotland and Canada than countries of lower latitudes and this has been linked to a lack of sunshine in childhood. It strikes me that sun hats and creams and Wii or XBox will have the same effect. There is MS in my family so I am very sensitive to the issue and, for me, it is an obvious balance of risk. Apart from that, I am not sure why this aversion to the sun is so strong or who is promoting it. Retailers of said sun products certainly seem to emphasise it a lot but what will be the health repercussions for today's generation of children in 20-30 years time?
There is increasing awareness of this problem and the BBC have run several stories on it: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-11355810
However, the glacier of public opinion is frozen in the myth that the sun is bad and I fear it will be another generation before this will change.
Monday, 5 July 2010
Friday, 2 July 2010
The Devil's Fruit
When I was seven my father tried to make me eat a tomato. It was the first time we had a real fight: He was all sternly adamant that I would not defy him by refusing to eat it and I was all hurt and physically gagging at having to eat the insidiously gooey mess.
I hate tomatoes; they are the Devil’s fruit. Indeed, there is nothing in the bible that actually indicates that the fruit proffered to Adam by Eve was an apple. That was probably just the interpretation of the biblical text by 15th and 16th Century European artists and I believe it was really the eating of a tomato that precipitated the fall of man. Only the blinding temptation of naked totty could get a man to do something so vile as eat a tomato and, in the same vein, you clearly can not make children eat something they do not want to. I resolved never to make my own children eat food they did not like.
Thirty year’s later with three sons, however, the issue of getting children to eat is less certain. My four year old can be very fussy and often refuses to eat either because he does not like the food he is offered or he is not hungry. You’d think the simple answer is to offer him food he likes and accept that he will eat when he is hungry but he often declares he does not like food that he has previously wolfed down and, having declined to eat because he’s not hungry, he will then cry because he’s hungry and wants a peanut butter sarnie.
We’ve tried allsorts of methods. We have banned eating snacks between meals, if they don’t eat supper they are denied a pre-bedtime snack, counting spoons of food (that worked well for a while), and offering rewards. Nothing is foolproof but everything has some guilt attached as to whether they are eating enough if they are denied snacks and whether I have become Victorian Dad from Viz comic. Some things do have a positive effect. Eating together as a family group seems to make the boys feel involved, I always insist they say thank you for their food (even if they did not eat any), and eating food from each other’s plates have all encouraged better eating.
After many stressful mealtimes I have conceded the truth of my own childhood; you can not force children to eat and giving ultimatums and sitting at the table for hours looking at cold food just alienates them and makes mealtimes a dreaded occurrence. We have followed the advice that after 30 minutes children are unlikely to eat more and forcing the issue is counter productive. I have found compromise between the “no snacking” rule and “eating enough” issue by allowing fruit or raw veg.
Now, I see it like this: My father also tried to make me eat sprouts and they are the Devil’s testicles.
I hate tomatoes; they are the Devil’s fruit. Indeed, there is nothing in the bible that actually indicates that the fruit proffered to Adam by Eve was an apple. That was probably just the interpretation of the biblical text by 15th and 16th Century European artists and I believe it was really the eating of a tomato that precipitated the fall of man. Only the blinding temptation of naked totty could get a man to do something so vile as eat a tomato and, in the same vein, you clearly can not make children eat something they do not want to. I resolved never to make my own children eat food they did not like.
Thirty year’s later with three sons, however, the issue of getting children to eat is less certain. My four year old can be very fussy and often refuses to eat either because he does not like the food he is offered or he is not hungry. You’d think the simple answer is to offer him food he likes and accept that he will eat when he is hungry but he often declares he does not like food that he has previously wolfed down and, having declined to eat because he’s not hungry, he will then cry because he’s hungry and wants a peanut butter sarnie.
We’ve tried allsorts of methods. We have banned eating snacks between meals, if they don’t eat supper they are denied a pre-bedtime snack, counting spoons of food (that worked well for a while), and offering rewards. Nothing is foolproof but everything has some guilt attached as to whether they are eating enough if they are denied snacks and whether I have become Victorian Dad from Viz comic. Some things do have a positive effect. Eating together as a family group seems to make the boys feel involved, I always insist they say thank you for their food (even if they did not eat any), and eating food from each other’s plates have all encouraged better eating.
After many stressful mealtimes I have conceded the truth of my own childhood; you can not force children to eat and giving ultimatums and sitting at the table for hours looking at cold food just alienates them and makes mealtimes a dreaded occurrence. We have followed the advice that after 30 minutes children are unlikely to eat more and forcing the issue is counter productive. I have found compromise between the “no snacking” rule and “eating enough” issue by allowing fruit or raw veg.
Now, I see it like this: My father also tried to make me eat sprouts and they are the Devil’s testicles.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Cry Wolf
Aesop’s fable is about a lonely shepherd boy who cried wolf when there was not one there in order to relieve his boredom and attract attention. At school, I recall this tale was told as a reminder not to cause unnecessary alarm just for fun or attention but I also thought it implied that grown ups should not automatically dismiss children just because they have a tendency to exaggerate or even lie.
Now I am a parent I try to bear the lessons from this tale in mind, although it is not always easy. Recently I was walking with my 3 and 4 year old sons, our baby in a pram and the dog. It's quite an expedition on your own and my 3 year old, G, was playing up badly.
"I’m tired, there's something in my shoe, pick me up Daddy." This whinging is generally his way of seeking attention. Each time he complained of something in his sandal I stopped to check only to be told:
"Only teasing, Daddy." At the fifth time of asking I nearly did not check but, mindful of the fable, I parked the pram, tied the dog called my elder son close and got down on my hands and knees again to look in his sandal. There was an ugly piece of glass sticking through the sole of my son’s sandal and it had pierced the skin causing a tiny trickle of blood.
The thought that I nearly did not look still makes me shudder.
Now I am a parent I try to bear the lessons from this tale in mind, although it is not always easy. Recently I was walking with my 3 and 4 year old sons, our baby in a pram and the dog. It's quite an expedition on your own and my 3 year old, G, was playing up badly.
"I’m tired, there's something in my shoe, pick me up Daddy." This whinging is generally his way of seeking attention. Each time he complained of something in his sandal I stopped to check only to be told:
"Only teasing, Daddy." At the fifth time of asking I nearly did not check but, mindful of the fable, I parked the pram, tied the dog called my elder son close and got down on my hands and knees again to look in his sandal. There was an ugly piece of glass sticking through the sole of my son’s sandal and it had pierced the skin causing a tiny trickle of blood.
The thought that I nearly did not look still makes me shudder.
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