My son the Whovian

It is clear that Number One Son is growing, since his ultimate hero has changed from Lightning McQueen to Dr Who. It is clear that he does not worry about the fact that from one Dalek-themed DVD to another the actor playing Dr Who changes and the personality of Dr Who moves from between an oldish dandy to a funnily clad loof. Not to mention the various assistants and sidekicks that range from a man with red hair to the lady who provides nowadays the voice of Tree Fu Tom.

The floting dalek from the Remembrance of the Daleks

Nevertheless, one Dr Who character is above the others: the Daleks. Instead of the many Lightning McQueens our little Whovian is playing with his father's big golden Dalek, with the medium black Dalek and the small red 'baby' Daleks. He has a lego Tardis and a small model Tardis to add to this imaginative play with the Daleks. It is still quite unclear, if he has properly cottoned on that the Daleks are the baddies and Dr Who is really saving the Earth time after time. It really doen't matter as long as he can run around shouting 'Obey! Obey!' or 'Exterminate!'. I think he really would like us the parents to obey...

I even watched with Number One Sonthe special programme on BBC when they revealed the latest, the coming Dr Who. Number One Son jumped up and down with joy when Capaldi was presented as the new Dr Who. Archaeologist Husband did miss that sight, but he is proud of his son and knows that our little Dr Who fan can only be his son. A Whovian from one generation to another!

A Skype mom

Now I have entered the select group of parents who are working away from their families and trying to keep up with their children with Skype. It is amazing how a laptop, a tablet and one free service allow families keep contact across the world. It would have been so different in the late 1980s when there were no mobile phones, no Internet and no video link from your table corner.

Using tablet computer to read a bedtime story does not work in practice as well as I imagined it to do. I did not consider that the camera in the front of the tablet is actually quite high up and Number One Son will be lying down in his bed. Thus, when the tablet is beside him, I alternatively see a ceiling or a wall and, if I am particularly lucky, I may catch some of his hair or one eye at the base of my view.

In order to celebrate the country I am visiting, I have chosen Astrid Lingren’s Emil as the reading of my choice. We did not quite finish the Moomin book I had started earlier during the late summer, but I will finish it during my next visit home. Emil is a good choice, since one of my memories from my childhood is to watch it on TV. When in England, the stories in the books remind me of the Nordic summer and winter and different customs and manners we have in the north.

The most horrible part of this new status is the lack of hugs and kisses. You can always say ‘I love you’ and ‘Good night’, but there is no happy ‘smuck’ before the lights go off...

Parents: a clear fail!

The anticipated day came and Number One Son’s first school day was due. We had all required for the school uniform and we checked the start time from my notes. The morning was sunny, so it was going to be a nice walk to the school for all the family. But Number One Son did not want to have any of it. He really fought against putting any piece of the uniform on and he did not want to come out of the door. We tried to take photos for the greatgrandmother who had asked for them, but he was truly miserable in the one’s took outside the house.

Somehow we were under the misconception that the school day would be six hours from the start. On the way to the school we saw one of Number One Son’s nursery friends with her big brother who was smartly in his uniform, but our son’s friend was in her ‘civil. Clothes and her mother explained how it is a pain that she will only attend that day in the afternoon. Suddenly we were wondering, if Number One Son should even be at the school. But we went ahead.

When we approached the school those people we knew were going to the reception class had parents with nice decorated boxes with Peppa Pig and other figures in a colourful wrapping papers with glitter or photos on top. I started to dread that we had missed not only one thing, but something else, too. When we entered the class room, most adults were carrying decorated boxes. I had to ask Number One Son’s teacher “But what are these boxes”. She told us that there had been a letter that had asked us to make a box with things that told about Number One Son. Archaeologist Husband was totally clueless and I had only faint memory that the word ‘box’ may have been uttered in the induction evening for the parents, but that had been forgotten during our house move.

Still under the impression that Number One Son would be at school until 3 pm, we went to pay for the school lunch. After the payment we walked home and by chance saw the lady who is responsible for the SEN support. She said that the school will finish at 3 pm, if Number One Son is ‘full-timer’. This did not mean anything to us, so we thought all was fine.

At home I found the letter posted to us sometime in late May. It stated that those children born after New Year did only half day the first seven days. Suddenly our plans were drawn anew – and I felt really stupid.

The only consolation was that we could find no sheet with any instructions of a memory box among the folder of papers the school had sent us early in summer. I also heard from another mother that she had given her instructions to a third mother who had not had them. A fourth mother who came later to the park had turned up at school empty handed as well.

I and Number One Son did do a box that afternoon. It was covered with golden wrapping paper and has all the Doctor Whos on one side. The next day - when Number One Son wanted to put the uniform on willingly and was bursting to go to school too early - we noticed that it was the biggest of them all. It was our only box of the approximately right size with a lid. We did not compensate...

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...