Beach lessons

It was marvellous to see how differently Number One Son responded to the seaside this year. Last year it was all about climbing the rocks and marvelling the rock pools whereas this year he wanted to direct the drainage, build sand castles and create moats. Archaeologist Husband ended up doing most of the digging whereas I was providing the water for the moat.

On the first beach day we did not arrive to St. Brelade’s Bay until in the afternoon just before the tide coming and thus the castle and the moat were destroyed by the tide. It was a spectacular view, with the first splash of advancing water pouring into the farthest side of the moat and not all waves reaching the moat, yet. Then, there were a series of serious splashes and suddenly the sides of the moat were collapsing and the castle structure melted to the water. For a moment it looked like Atlantis was going down.

This was nothing in comparison to the large castle a whole family was building nearby. It basically ate itself from inside after some efforts to keep the sides of the moats and banks repaired. In 15 minutes everybody understood more about the workings of tide than in multiple lessons in any class room.

Lasts and firsts

This is a scary and exiting time of life. Our little toddler is not so little any more and tomorrow will be the last day in the nursery. I have bought a card and chocolates for the staff and lollipops for the children to take home. Then in two weeks time it will be Number One Son’s first day in the reception class - first day at school. And after just two full school days I will take a flight in order to start a year-long contract abroad. Archaeologist Husband will take care of the normal everyday and I will be the parent who skypes in the evenings in order to read a goodnight story.

Many parents have asked me how I can do it, but I have put Number One Son – well – number one for four years while trying to build up a teaching portfolio and write up old things. Now I will have 12 months to make a big push and get things published with a proper salary that will keep us afloat. However, I have butterflies in my stomach and we will know how things will turn out after the first two weeks have passed. We will then know, if Number One Son will have taken to the school like a fish to water – or if he will be unsettled. Luckily, I will be back in September for a conference and then there will be a half-term in Sweden. After that it will be regular trips to home - or for Number One Son and Archaeologist Husband a trip to the north to see relatives at Easter and during the summer.

I suddenly realised that our Aquatots session I have done with Number One Son, since he was just three months old, was going to be our last. Similarly, a play session in the local Sure Start centre was the last one. Now it is the countdown until our short holiday in the south – around Brighton and in Jersey in order to see relatives. Then it will be the time for the ‘big school’.

Number One Son has suddenly grown tall, but his speech is still at the level of a two-and-half-year or three-year-old. One reason he cannot come with me is that he will have special support in his future primary school – just what he needs for the future.

Now he also has a clean haircut; Archaeologist Husband took Number One Son to the barbers for the very first time. We have been scared to take him before due to the communication gap, but now it was the time. Archaeologist Husband has been clipping his hair and the result has been ‘modernistic’ to put it politely. Most of the time his hair has been quite long. But now Number One Son is presentable for his Grandpa and Great-Nana. Barbers may feel like a small step, but it is a symbol for the things to come.

Patronising and out of touch

Even if I could not cut it as a stay home mom, I cannot understand how the treasurer can say that being a stay home mom (or dad) in Britain is 'a lifestyle choice'. In a country where childcare is extremely expensive many families where there are two children are in a situation where it does not necessarily make any sense for one parent to work, if one has to travel to work and the children are small. A millionaire can afford to make lifestyle choices when working does not actually create overcoming travel or other costs.

In addition, at least in the Nordic countries the conservatives normally are singing from the song book that emphasises the importance of the motherhood and encourages all mothers (yes, mothers only) to stay at home when the children are small. Not in Britain. In Britain the noble thing to do is to work in all circumstances. Well, the British conservatives as a party do not seem to resemble much the kind of conservatives you have here in the villages. They do not appreciate the countryside and peace. They do not deride wind farms, fracking, endless new planning permissions in order to build houses in greenfield sites in places where the road infrastructure is already struggling. They do not appreciate libraries, playgrounds or youth clubs. Apparently, they would be happy if the plebs just would work endlessly on zero-hour contracts...

From things to action

The character of the speech therapist appointment became clear this week. Number One Son’s verbal communication skills, understanding and pronunciation were assessed. He did not perform as well as he sometimes does at home, but his problem areas were very clear. He is not very good with comparisons or negations and did always choose the alternative the speech therapist negated.

Number One Son communicates mostly with nouns. When the speech therapist tried to get him to say that a girl was cutting a cake, he just said “Cake” and pointed at it. When he was shown a baby crying he was repeating “baby, baby” enthusiastically. Thus, his grasp of verbs is poor and now we have to change the way we support his speech.

So far, it has all been about “red cars” and “black cats”. Now we have to emphasize action. It will be “cat running” or “boy playing football”. I have to start describing what he is doing – or what mummy or daddy are doing – so that it will all be related to his own life and physical action.

The unfortunate part with the appointment was that since it was in Coalville, I changed Number One Son’s nursery days. Naturally, it was pouring down and instead of having an active day at the Rothley station, we admired the iPlayer and the possibility of seeing ‘Sarah and Duck’ again and again and again and...

What did he say?

A novelty approach to Number One Son’s speech development is by his peers who ask me to tell them which language he is speaking and what he says. Of course, I have to say that, actually, he is speaking English, which they are quite surprised of. After all, I am pretty good in telling him off in Finnish, which they can definitely hear is a foreign language. And no, most of the time I do not have a clue what he is saying. There is some hope, since he is pronouncing some words and expressions better. For example, ‘ice cream van’ is the new favourite every time he hears the easily recognisable jingle. However, if he says ‘pain’, most of the time he means ‘train’. Thus, it is easy to see why it is difficult for everybody to understand him and why there is confusion.

However, he wants to discourse, which is more than this time last year, so it is definitively progress. Next week I have an appointment with his speech therapist. I am not sure what will happen. It may be a first of the sessions to improve his pronunciation. It may be the proper referral session, so his support at school will be official. Or it may be a routine assessment. I will see.

I think, if the weather is good, we will go and see steam trains again. We did use the Great Central Railway’s family offer and rode the train on a discounted fare. Number One Son wanted to go to the children’s rides temporarily set up at the Rothley station and drive Thomas on the Garden Railway. I was not sure how well he will take to the instructions, but afterwards I thought I may be downgrading his ability and have to go and give him an opportunity. In this way I can also span the fun across multiple days!

Lost to a TV programme

In the short term Number One Son’s life will be defined by the parents who will take turns in being away. Archaeologist Husband is half-way through his first stay abroad, wondering if he will get to visit the second project he is involved with over the weekend. He will soon after returning fly for another stint, that time for a week only, for an interesting training project.

Nowadays, families are blessed to have Skype in their use; parents can keep in touch with their children in another country and hear what has happened home and away. It is unbelievable that it was only twenty years ago, when one did not even have mobile phones, but had to call from abroad using telephone call cards in public phones. Now one only needs a computer linked in Internet in both ends and one can discuss with video. Hearing the cicadas and all.

So far so good until last night when Number One Son was extremely tired and the time slot for Daddy’s Skype call coincided with a children’s programme that had already started and that is part of Number One Son’s bedtime routine. After a couple of minutes listening to the screams ‘No Dad’, ‘No Dad’ and after exchanging the quickest of the countdowns of daily happenings, he threw his towel to the rink and we finished the call. And the silence fell, when the children’s programme was resumed. Lost to a children's programmes. The juniors do have their priorities.

'Graduation ceremony'

Americanisation of European culture continues. This is not only a phenomenon in Britain or Finland, but concerns other countries as well. However, here at home we and some other parents were slightly dismayed when we were informed that the children starting reception class this autumn will have a graduation ceremony. Graduating from what? Preschool? They also had a photo taken with a home-made paper gown and a board. More Mid-western high school than Oxbridge college I say...

We and the other parent we talked to had decided not to air our doubts, because after all the whole occasion was for the children. This was an extra occasion for seeing all parents in one place. In the end it turned out that it was quite simple. Their names were read in the alphabetical order of their first names and they went to receive a ‘certificate’, which was more of a ‘thank you for having been here’ variety. Then we all had a picnic in the baby room (where the babies were was a mystery – probably where the preschoolers normally are). Predictably, the white shirt had not survived to the occasion after lunch, so Number One Son’s ‘best party clothes’ were not as supreme as in the morning...

Sadly, we had to be bad parents and leave Number One Son in the nursery after the event that was on a Friday after lunch, since we had errands to run. I was advised against taking Alex to a cook shop, and boy, Archaeologist Husband was correct! After house move one needs surprising items and while looking for spice racks is quite safe, when it is done in an environment where you have pottery items, large knives and glasses, it would be a nightmare. Luckily, the birthday parties during the sunniest weekend in memory wiped any bad feelings from part of Number One Son.