Now you are 13. To my son on his 13th birthday

To my boy,

Last week we went to a Bonfire party and I went to take a selfie of us and realised you’d grown so much, your face wasn’t next to mine in the photo anymore. I’ve been doing a lot of that over the last year. I see you every day, but sometimes I look at you and you’ve suddenly got taller, or your shoes are too small, or your tops are now crop tops!

I look at photos of you as a baby and think that they must be from just a few years ago, but that time has gone in the blink of an eye. They said it would, when every new baby arrives people say, enjoy it, before you know it they’ll be grown and leaving home, and you’re making a good job of growing, though I hope you won’t leave home for a while yet!

To my son on his 13th birthday

In the last year we have been on some adventures. We’ve spent a lot of time on trams and trains, because you really enjoy getting out and about. We have argued countless times about homework and helping out a bit more around the house, or at the very least, not dumping your things wherever you fancy when you walk through the door.

I’ve watched you grow from a boy, to a handsome young man. You’re tall and muscular like your Dad and you’re learning to enjoy the things your new body will let you do, like pick your Dad up and jiggle him about, which is no small thing! I’ve made you sound a bit like The Hulk, but you’re not. You’re gentle and kind and really care about people and animals. You look after your friends at school and stop them being bullied by the less kind members of your year group. It takes a lot to stand up to people and say no, and I couldn’t be prouder of you for doing that.

To my son on his 13th birthday

You’re a teenager now, caught in that eternal struggle between wanting to avoid soap and hot water at all costs, and wanting your hair nice, your spots gone and for the smell of Lynx to follow you everywhere. You’re developing your own sense of style and have definite opinions about fashion. We are learning to enjoy going shopping together, something I never really imagined for myself, but it’s lovely to see you choosing your own clothes and putting together outfits, though you’ve always been very stylish when left to your own devices.

This letter could all just be about how much you’ve grown, which is indisputable. What I wanted to tell you, because although I say it often, I’m not sure you really hear it, is how proud I am of you. You have your struggles with your dyspraxia, but you’re learning ways to conquer that. It may take you a bit longer to master skills, or to get the confidence up to try new things, but you really are tremendous.

You’re a strong swimmer, a brilliant and naturally talented archer, you love going to the gym and lifting weights and smashing it on the cross trainer. You love all forms of transport and if I’m planning a journey, you’re the first person I talk to, because you’ll always find me the best route. You are kind and funny and clever. Most of your teachers are thrilled to have someone as enthusiastic as you in their class. You love geography, science and history, you’re less keen on French, but you’re still somehow really good at it.

To my son on his 13th birthday

Keep doing what you’re doing, because what you’re doing works. I love you so much and you make me proud to be your mum every day. What a privilege it is to be your parent.

Happy birthday my boy. You’re the very best!

Love always,

Mum xx

12 Things I love about my teenager

A few years ago, I wrote a blog post called 12 things I love about my son. At the time of writing, he was a soft, squishy five year old, and absolutely the apple of my eye. He still is, but he’s now a gangling 12 year old, just finishing his first year of high school and he’s busy cultivating a moustache and an attitude.

What with him slap-bang in the middle of puberty, and me on nodding terms with the peri-menopause, our house is a lively hot bed of hormones. Between us there’s enough shouting and crying to script a Latin American soap opera.

Despite this, we still find plenty to like about each other, and teenagers often get a bad rap, so I thought I’d list some of the things I like best about him, if only so I can look back and read it when he’s locked in his room loudly sulking to himself and telling me to go away.

12 things I love about my teenager

He may eat us out of house and home, but he appreciates my efforts to fill his hollow legs, always says thank you and compliments my cooking.
When he gets home from school he always gives me the biggest and best hug of my day.
He always asks to watch funny dogs YouTube videos with me before bed, so we can laugh and wind down together.
He carries my bags home without needing to be asked.
We share a hobby, and although we don’t have much downtime, when we paint together, it’s special for both of us.
He always rushes home to tell me about the small victories in his day; house points won, things he has achieved, jokes he’s told which made people laugh.
He still shares his sweets and treats with me.
He takes pictures of things he thinks I will like when he’s out and about. This week it was a large puddle with a dramatic sky reflected in it.
He asks to spend time with me and suggests interesting things we could do together, like trips on the Metrolink to new places, or he likes coming swimming with me.
He is always coming up with new jokes to try and make me laugh. Some of them are remarkably clever.
As awkward as so many of the growing up, birds and the bees, “all of these strange things happening to you body are actually perfectly normal” chats are, he does listen, engage with me and ask questions, which is such a relief and a good thing. Awkward as heck though.
Sometimes, if no one is around, he will hold my hand while we are walking down the road. No one must ever know this.

12 things I love about my teenager
Those are just twelve of the many reasons why I think he is awesome. I think it’s nice to think about some of the ways the special people in your life make you feel special too, or the things you personally marvel at about them. I know the next few years won’t be plain sailing for either of us, hormones being a big factor in that. But as long as we remember that we love each other, and that we have each others backs, we will hopefully come out the other side relatively unscathed and hopefully not needing too much therapy.

Whatever happens, I wouldn’t swap him for the world. He’s my best boy and always will be.

Living Arrows: The busy life of a six year old

When you’re six and the sun is shining, you want to throw off the shackles of school, homework and all the things you have to do each day and have fun. Much to my regret, my six year old has a busy life, a far too busy life. He has school and after school activities and not enough time sat at home chilling out and being six.

When he is at home we’re generally busy trying to get his homework done, or getting his dinner down him, or throwing him in the bath and bundling him into bed so he’s rested enough for the next busy day. I long for half term breaks, inset days and summer holidays so we can just be and we can just stop racing around for a few days and spend some precious time together.

Living Arrows: The busy life of a six year old

At Easter I took him away for a couple of days, just the two of us and it was fantastic. We had the best time together and we were both well rested and tired out by the time we got home. Maybe that’s what I need to do to be able to spend time with him, steal him away from everything for a few days. It shouldn’t be that way but it is. Sadly.

This last week has been phonics screening week at school. He’s had a lot of prep and pressure leading up to this. He’s worked hard but I’ve no idea how he’s got on, nor do I care particularly. He’s six and he’s doing just fine and he doesn’t need pressure from me on top of the pressure from everyone else. When did being six become so stressful?

Living Arrows: The busy life of a six year old

In the snatched moments we have together, when we’re not in a rush to go somewhere or do something, or finish some homework, we do crafts and baking, we go on nice walks and talk about nature. Sometimes we just sit and watch TV together and all of those things, all of them are just as valid as phonics, reading, homework, Beavers and football lessons.

We need to stop doing things and just be.

Living Arrows: The busy life of a six year old

Although there’s hardly any time at all to just be, this week we did manage a few snatched moments of time to just be six. Walking the dog, colouring in with his new Paw Patrol stationery kit and we had a BBQ and I caught him gnawing away at a corn on the cob – a difficult task if you’re missing some teeth and nursing some wobbly ones!

I love this boy and treasure every snatched moment with him.

12 Things I love about my son

I get a bit teary sometimes when people ask me when I’m going to have my next child and I have to tell them I can’t have any more children. The loss of what might’ve been I feel acutely, but I know I am bloody lucky to have what I’ve got.

I creep into his room most nights to look at him, partly because he’s still for once and I can get a good look at him, partly because he looks so damn cute when he sleeps, and partly because I think it does me good to fill my heart full of love before I go to sleep at night. So with that in mind, here are 12 of the things I love about my son…

I love the sound of my son yawning when he’s having his dream wee.
I love the way he sleepily snuggles onto his dad’s shoulder when he’s carried back to bed, like the little boy he is and not the big boy he thinks he is.
I love the way he wakes me up “like a princess”, which is to kiss me like Sleeping Beauty might be kissed by her handsome prince.
I love the way he climbs into bed with me for ten minutes of putting stickers in his farm book before he goes to school.
I love the way he shares things with us, breaking off a small piece of his toast for us and sharing every bag of sweets he gets.
I love the way he stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the street like a tiny foreman, pointing out anything of interest “look mummy, a rubbish lorry”.
I love his sleeping face, peaceful and angelic, still with the soft round cheeks of a small boy, framed by his long eyelashes a thousand girls will later envy.
I love the way he slips his hand into mine when we walk together, his is so warm and soft and he doesn’t mind me squeezing it as I try to burn the memory of his little hand into my mind.
I love the way he loves music, asks for it to be turned up and rocks out whenever he has the chance.
I love reading with him, baking, making crafts and drawing. I love talking about our days and about all of the things in our lives.
I love how polite he is in company, how he will behave impeccably in a restaurant, how people say he’s a credit to us.
I love learning about him. He’s good at counting, less good with phonetics, loves sport and is a bit obsessed with robots.

I love him. With all of my heart.

Of course there are things I don’t love. The rough play, the tantrums, the frankly gross habits I know I’ll be moaning about for the rest of my life. But I’m the mother of a boy, a beautiful, lively, intelligent, caring boy. And I wouldn’t swap him for the world.

things I love about my son

Growing up: A childhood full of cuddles

The small boy started big school this week. We were both brave and have managed the transition quite well; but it’s made me all reflective about my little baby growing up.

He’ll be four in November and those years have gone like a blur. I know it’s a cliché, but sometimes, most of the the time, clichés are so very true. The memory of holding him when he was born; doing the skin to skin thing and I was just shocked, amazed, full of love and terrified that I had a real life baby in my arms. I knew at that moment, I would fight anyone to the death if they so much as gave him a funny look.

I remember holding him during our first days at home, when I was alone and wondering who on earth had decided I was grown up enough to care for this beautiful, helpless, vulnerable creature. He smelt great too, newborns are almost edible, almost.

Growing up: A childhood full of cuddles

I remember his Christening and watching his grumpy face as he was passed around family and friends when he just wanted to cuddle his mummy or daddy. I remember holding my breath in case he cried when they baptised him. He didn’t.

I remember taking him to nursery for the first time, just short of his first birthday and breaking my heart in the car on the way to work. I held him extra close for a long time that night and for several nights after.

Growing up: A childhood full of cuddles

In the nights before I went into hospital for my operations, I stuck a brave face on for him and squeezing him tight before bed; knowing that I wouldn’t see him for a few days. Those nights in hospital when I hadn’t been able to kiss him goodnight, they seemed horribly long and lonely without him.

He’s not overly cuddly, but when he’s poorly he really craves cuddles and reassurance. I make the most of his under the weather snuggles, when he’s burning up and he just wants his mummy. I know he’s coming down with something when he just climbs on my knee and nestles in.

His first day of school, he was all manly and grown up. No proper cuddles for mummy, just a cursory hug of my knee and he was off. He’s growing up fast and I hope we’ve done enough to prepare him for big school.

Growing up: A childhood full of cuddles

He’s a tough little monkey; independent, funny, chatty, charming, with eyes that’ll get him both in trouble and out of trouble in equal measure. I know his affectionate cuddles will become less frequent now he’s growing up and becoming a man of the world; so when they do happen I’m going to make the most of them, and hold him extra tight for a little bit longer.

He’ll always be my baby, no matter how grown up he is. I hope he’ll still occasionally give me a special mummy cuddle. I hope one day he’ll feel his heart fill with love for the tiny newborn in his arms, and understand for himself what unconditional love really is.