Finding your rhythm

‘Rhythm’ is one of those words whose usage seems to be exponentially growing. Much like ‘season’ or phrases such as ‘looking forwards’ (what on earth is wrong with ‘in the future’?).

But I see this as a healthy thing. Synonyms such as ‘pattern’ or ‘balance’ could be easily substituted (and often are) as words to describe the efforts of parents to search for what works best for them and their families during different phases of life.

This post marks the first anniversary of a life-changing (and I DO NOT exaggerate) alteration in the rhythm of my own family life.

I think it’s fair to say that the laws allowing parents flexible working arrangements have shot ahead of society’s attitudes towards what is acceptable in the workplace. For example, dads can now apply to share some of their wife’s maternity leave, thus compensating for the paltry standard couple of weeks for men to adjust to fatherhood and those precious early bonding opportunities with their offspring.

Most employers will also listen to requests for flexible working, with at least some burden on them to justify a refusal – although I can’t imagine any successful agreements being reached without a positive pre-existing employer/employee relationship.

I work for a small-ish charity (about 25 staff), which is roughly the size of employer which I’m used to from my time in private sector PR land. Any sort of flexibility is obviously harder the smaller an organisation is, but just over 12 months ago I took the plunge and asked for a slight reduction in hours to enable more parental involvement.

After 7 years including a couple of maternity leaves and part-time work – and with both children now in formal education – my wife was looking to return to full-time work. Several other factors also came into play which resulted in an ideal solution becoming quickly apparent.

Without going into detail, we had a trial period and it worked for both sides. Simple arrangements to re-organise responsibilities were made at work, my wife’s back at work and I now see far more of my kids during the week. I work about 4 hours a week less (in theory) but I have deadlines for leaving on time which ensure I fulfil my new-found school run-based parental responsibilities.

I have suggested that these relatively minor work/life changes have doubled the Mon-Fri time I have with my children, but on closer inspection it’s more like a 60% increase – still not bad!

My only plea to you is simple: find your rhythm. If things just don’t feel balanced then, even if you do nothing else of real value for your family this year, be bold and make a change. Work out what’s best and put your family first, because it’s unlikely that anybody else will and they need you to be there for them.

There are some certainties: not everybody will agree (you will be criticised) and there will be some unwanted consequences (evening work, stifling potential career progression, etc), but doing the right thing is rarely the easiest course of action.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

Being an introvert parent

I detest labels. They are usually weighted with so much meaning, much of which gives a totally false impression of the person or thing the label’s being slapped upon.

But one of the labels I am happy to claim is being an introvert. Before I go any further, let me dispel some of the myths that might immediately spring to mind following that admission (although I know much better and more comprehensive lists have been written, including here). Here I go:

• I like people. In fact, I adore people. Lots of time I’m not particularly good at spending lots of time with lots of friends, but please don’t mistake that for a lack of care. It’s just that I need a bit more time than most to re-charge alone, which can restrict the amount of time I spend with others. If I really like and trust you, you’ll have a loyal friend for life – although you might not see or talk to me quite as much as some of your extrovert friends.
• I like to talk. A good chat with a good friend is always a highlight of my day, the only caveat being that I might start to drift off in a conversation that lasts much longer the subject matter demands. Oh, and I’m not good at small talk. It’s not that I don’t participate in exchanging pleasantries with friends and colleagues, but it comes with the hope that the conversation quickly becomes something more meaningful. I don’t really see the point of value-less words for the sake of value-less words.
• I like communicating. In fact, my job is all about communicating. Much of this is written, which often involves a lot of solitary thought and planning while words and phrases are drafted and re-drafted in front of my own eyes. However I deeply value the power of effective communication, in whatever form it may come.

Even introverts can be like this, as long as what we’re saying is worthwhile!

In fact, the thing that troubles me most is extroverts who aren’t prepared to adjust to different types of people like me. We’re not rude, inferior or solitary, and we certainly don’t enjoy being dismissed for being occasionally backward in coming forward. I’m far less likely to shoot my mouth off in an unconsidered manner, and I know that I’ll give you a far better answer about almost anything if you give me even just a couple of minutes thinking time.

So, in referring back to where I started, I’m far more than just a label. After all, the purest definition of an introvert is that I need to re-charge on my own, as opposed to in other people’s company. It’s not a commentary that frames exactly how I respond in every other situation. Once I’ve re-charged, I’m quite happy to be the centre of attention, the proactive force driving a meeting, or even – if the mood takes me – the life and soul of a party.

But what does that mean about my parenting?

Well, for starters, it helps me understand my children if they turn out to be introverts as well. My eldest is already showing signs of such tendencies, but neither my wife (an extreme extrovert) nor I are concerned about this. After all, I think we agree that I’ve not turned out too bad in the end.

But above all – as previewed above – I need to re-charge. I’m as full-on as most dads in being lively and chatty with my children during the day. I love to spend time with them, mainly because I’m convinced it’s the most important thing I can do for them (as highlighted in several previous posts including this one).

Given this, I’ve had to find ways to survive. Just like anybody else, without the necessary re-charge time I quickly burn-out or just fizzle out. So I’ve applied a basic requirement for most aspects of  parenting and learnt new ways to get by. For example, as soon as the kids are in bed I can’t relax until pretty much any evidence of them is cleared away from the living room. My field of vision needs to be visibly clear before I can begin to mentally unwind. There are several other very simple examples: making time for myself during the course of my week (at least one or two evenings), giving myself a brief time-out while the kids are watching TV, shutting myself away to cook or clean the kitchen, etc.

I would list some more, but I think you’ll agree that I’ve done quite enough pouring out of my heart and soul for now … especially for an introvert.

Am I a great Dad?

A while ago at work a few of my colleagues were asked to write down some encouraging words for each other, which is always nice. We shared what we’d received and then went back to our desks with a bit more of a spring in our steps.

I’m glad to say that the most obvious theme from the notes handed to me was about being a great dad. As nice as that was, it quickly dawned on me that none of the people around that table had actually ever seen me with my children, so they don’t really have a clue about what kind of dad I am!

Am I really?

And that got me thinking … do I just create the image of being a great dad because that’s what I want people to think? Or is there more to it than that?

Please don’t think this post is designed as some kind of compliment-fishing exercise! All things considered, I know that I’m a good dad. I love, care and provide for my children, and am secure in the fact that they think I’m doing a good job too.

But it’s all too easy as a parent to slip into a ‘keeping up with the Jones’ mentality. The pressure is probably most intense with a newborn, as first-time parents refuse let the facade of peace and harmony slip … perhaps because they struggle to admit to themselves that this parenting lark isn’t quite as idyllic as they dreamed it would be. And the danger of pretending things are better than the reality never really goes away.

Having said that, I’d like to think that I’m part of a generation of young parents who are breaking that particular mould. I believe that our culture (at least in the UK) is shifting towards being more acceptable of vulnerability and honesty, because that’s what people need to develop integrity and trust – two increasingly rare (and therefore greatly valued) virtues.

And I think our children will benefit for from this. I want to be honest with my kids when I’ve had a good day, as well as when things aren’t quite as rosy. All I hope is that this attitude filters through in a way that helps create a couple of well-balanced individuals who are honest with themselves and others.

After all, I know I’ll always make mistakes and never be truly great, but I just want to be a good dad.

Holidays are here!

I’ve got a severe case of end-of-term-itis. In a good way. The holidays are here. The sun is shining. Spring has sprung. Things are looking up.

Why am I feeling so chipper? Well, I’ve just had a long weekend which included plenty of sunshine, trips to the park and a screening of Rio 2. Just for a bit of life-life balance, we’ve now got a couple of days sans enfants as my wife and I work (and capitalise on the chance for a babysitter-free evening out!) while the kids spend some quality grandparent time with the in-laws.

But I could look at recent events differently. In many ways, much of the past few weeks and months have included the hardest challenges I’ve faced for some time. At times I’ve felt quite low, resulting in tweets like this:

After a day hitting some low lows, 10 minutes after collecting kids from school the world became a much rosier place! #parenting #joy

— Olly Du Croz (@ollydc) March 24, 2014

I’ve chosen the tweet above because – however exhausting, challenging and impossible parenting can seem at times – my children also have a great capacity to restore me to myself. All they have to do is give a simple smile, a hug, or demonstrate the ability to lose themselves in fits of hilarity – all of which can quickly draw me back into a more hopeful world, allow me to throw off the other worries and stresses of life, and bring me joy.

Amazing, aren’t they?

Last Friday was a case in point. School pick-up on the last afternoon of term is always a celebratory time, but we’re lucky enough to have two children who adore school (of course helped by spending time with their friends). I’m not expecting it to continue forever, but aged 7 and 4 I’m just revelling in the moment. The most striking sign of this is that it’s almost impossible to get my son to come home at the end of the school day. The classroom door is his gateway to the playground and, given the choice, all he wants to do it race around with his friends until darkness falls (with occasional breaks for food). And not much beats seeing him at his happiest with the friends he loves.

You see, just like my son in the playground, today I’m choosing to seize the day and celebrate life with unbridled optimism. Long may it continue.

Happy holidays!

Breaking the rules

I just gave my kids sweets. In the bath. Shortly before bedtime.
Now I’m not sure how many parental ‘rules’ I broke in that moment of madness, but I’d probably struggle to count them, even with a full complement of fingers and toes.
The summer holiday is, at least in our household, a season when rule-breaking is rife. Feel free to judge (I know you’re not perfect either!) but we’ve let standards slip on TV breakfasts (not to mention lunch and tea), diet, treats, gifts, bedtimes … in fact, most basic parental boundaries have been stretched in the past few weeks.
However, quite frankly, I don’t care. I don’t quite go along with the ‘rules are made to be broken’ school of thought, but surely there’s an element of truth in it.

I’d stake a lot of money that the vast majority of happy, lasting childhood memories are created when the rules are broken. The unexpected treats, the outlandish exceptions, the surprising ‘yes’ in response to the desperate request out of pure hope, not expectation.
Now it has been noted by some that we can be a touch on the strict side. My wife and I expect polite, decent behaviour, and we make no excuses for that. So perhaps by breaking a few rules we’re not moving the bar particularly low.
But regardless of the starting point, the fact that children know they’re getting away with something that wouldn’t usually be permitted can’t fail to give them a bit more joy. It strengthens the bond between rule-breaker (parent) and beneficiary (child): the shared mischievous grin that cements emotional ties; the eyes lit up in amazement that say, ‘Dad, you’re brilliant!’
And the memories. Oh, the memories.
I doubt that my own offspring will recall the bath-time sweeties on an otherwise nondescript August evening. But, deep down, I know it made a difference.
Having said that, it’s impossible to predict the memories that will last the test of time. My mother was mortified when my sister and I reminisced recently about one of our fondest childhood memories: watching the wrestling on Saturday lunchtime (Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks, et al) while stuffing our faces with pickled herrings. Not an everyday occurrence, but an occasional weekend treat that obviously struck a chord with two young children about three decades ago. Happy times. Fun times. Together times.
I hope your summer season was full of fun family times, however many rules you managed to break along the way.
Anyway, with growing and changing children the goalposts are moving on a fairly regular basis, so hopefully you’ll get away without causing too much of a confused mess to sort out in the aftermath. And with any luck, I won’t now spend the entire autumn battling over re-defining those stretched and misshapen boundaries.

Father’s Day: we can change the world

I hate melodramatic headlines. The world is full of lazy newspaper sub-editors who never let the truth of a story get in the way of a good headline.

So, you may ask, why have I gone for such a bold title in the run-up to this Sunday’s Father’s Day?

To put it bluntly, because I believe that parenting transforms families for generations. That’s the main reason why I got into this suff in the first place. Good (encouraging, supporting, loving, present, etc.) parenting helps form children who may well go on to become parents themselves, and much of what they do will (at least in part) be a reflection of what they’ve seen and experienced themselves. With any luck, this will be adapted and built on by their kids and their grand-children. And so on. Nearly everything good that I do as a Dad is thanks to the example set by my own parents, as described in this open letter to my Dad written this time last year.

Of course there’s a flip-side too. It’s painfully obvious that bad (neglectful, abusive, absent, etc.) parenting can scar children in such a way that it informs the way they (mis)treat their own children, entering into a lengthy cycle of despair which – if left unchecked – can continue for generations.

Without getting too wrapped up in what makes a good or bad parent (of course no parents are perfect, and I’m sure 99% are fantastic in the eyes of their kids, whatever they may think about themselves), it’s important to recognise the fantastic opportunity that this generation of fathers has to change the world forever. That means you (or your husband/partner).

The tools of a modern father

I’m delighted that I’m living in an era when it’s socially acceptable – even becoming socially expected – for fathers to put their family above everything else.I was listening to a fascinating radio interview with Ben Fogle earlier this week. He was introduced as ‘presenter, adventurer, broadcaster, etc, etc’. His reply? ‘And dad. You forgot the most important bit.’ Then followed a tounge-in-cheek challenge by the presenter about whether his family really was a higher priority than his career. This demonstrated that the default answer has become family first, work second. That’s the expectation.

But for many of us, this is breaking new ground. It’s safe to say that most people who are becoming parents for the first time were born in the 1970s or 80s. To make a massive generalisation, this is probably around the time that the traditional moulds of family life  were being challenged. Without pretending to understand modern social history, it’s undeniable that parenting in the 20th Century changed. It gradually became less a case of Mum looking after the kids and Dad working to provide for them. Father’s Day has changed from an ‘opportunity’ for Dad to spend time with his kids, and more of a continuation of normal life.Think back to the attitudes that many of our parents (those now starting out on the adventure of being grandparents), who were born in the 40s or 50s, were brought up into. How would the way they were parented compare to what our children experience today?Because look where we’ve got to now. More shared responsiblity, more stay at home dads, more blokes stepping up to their role as joint-carer of the little people we love. Dads who are choosing to be fully present in the lives of their children.

So, this Father’s Day, is it time to change the world? Yes. We can do it, one family (and one generation) at a time.

Getting back in the game

Under the cosh. Swimming against the tide. Run ragged. These and many other clichés are over-used in sports journalism (a career I once aspired towards), and as I’ve suggested before many of them also crop up in relation to parenting.

Feeling a bit deflated?

And that’s how I’ve been feeling recently. Perhaps that’s the reason for my all-too-lengthy blog silence. But the clouds are beginning to clear and (quite literally) the sun is starting to shine again.

This week a couple of things which I’ve shared on the blog’s Facebook page have helped me feel like I’m getting back in the game. This post reminded me that I’m not alone, and the motherhood rap made me giggle.

Getting back in the parenting game

Sometimes it all feels like a bit too much. I’ve been grumpy dad, tired dad and various other kinds of dad which I don’t like seeing in the mirror in recent weeks. Mealtimes seem to have become the battleground that I thought we’d seen the back of after (just) surviving the toddler years. But hope springs eternal, as the saying goes. Although I certainly don’t feel completely out of the woods, there are some chinks of light if I look hard enough. A bit of a holiday certainly helped.

Getting back in the blogging game

I think I’ve always been certain that I’d return to this blog at some stage, although the three-month gap might have suggested otherwise. Time has appeared in short supply. Motivation has been lacking. The thoughts about potential posts have been there, but all too often they’ve dispersed without being put into action. With Father’s Day looming, a flurry of traffic to my contribution from last year has also helped re-awaken my interest.

Getting back in the training game

‘Facilitator’ is perhaps the least elegant word in the English language. However, to help people on parenting courses it’s a label which I gladly wear from time to time. And over the past few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to be back involved in a Time Out course for a group of parents of under-5s (if you want, see if there’s one taking place near you). The mums and dads I’ve had the pleasure of sharing the past few Wednesday evenings with have both challenged and inspired me. I am hugely grateful to them, and I can’t wait to do more of the same later this year.

So … if you’re feeling like a bit of a spectator – or maybe sidelined by injury, or just exhausted and need to be substituted by somebody with a bit more energy – I hope that you find some way of getting back in the game before too long.

Dads are getting older – help!

It’s official. As reported in the news recently, the average age of becoming a dad is on the rise. So, dads are getting older – but aren’t we all?

Some might say that the onset fatherhood or motherhood comes with some significant baggage: middle age.

However, I disagree. It’s a bit of a cop-out to base the definition of our personal stage of life on the existence/age of a small human being or two. But if I’m right, when exactly does middle age begin?

Is it when we lose any decent dress sense? Or is it a loss of taste in music? When we lose all sense of adventure? Or could it be when we gladly embrace blandness? Maybe it’s a physical phase, such as the loss of hair or the infamous ‘spread’? Or maybe it’s just the loss of any sense of rhythm when dancing?

Or is middle age when we just totally lose it? The plot. Our sanity. We fall into ‘crisis’.

Middle age: Craving the simple life? Or just cracking up?

Some would say that in reality I’ve been ‘middle aged’ since about my 9th birthday. But with the passing months and years, some of the classic hallmarks are beginning to crop up in my character and attitudes with alarming regularity and accuracy. Oh dear.

As parents, the cross that some of us have to bear is that being Mum or Dad can serve to accelerate the onset of middle age. Our responsibilities grow and our wrinkles appear … or maybe just deepen!

I recently carried out a little survey on the blog’s Facebook page about when people think middle age begins. The results were interesting (the top-rated age bracket was 45-49, soon followed by ‘never’!), but the comments I received (including from an inspirational group of other dad bloggers) were even more revealing. Some took a statistical approach and identified the mid-point of life (the most accurate response was 37.675, for the record), but others defined it as a state of mind – some stage in the future when we start to think like people who think they’re middle aged.

More interestingly, I don’t think anybody voted for an age bracket that they’re actually already in. So perhaps middle age will only ever be a box that others may put us in, but it will never be a label that we’ll be happy to slap on ourselves. (Perhaps some of my stereotypical suggestions above may explain why!)

However we may choose to define it, there are some obvious (often clichéd)  hallmarks about middle age which we cannot dispute. Even though I hope that, personally speaking, true middle age is a few years away, I may already be heading down that slippery slope. But will I ever get to the bottom? I hope not.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy that sports car …

The echo is too loud

I went to have a haircut on Saturday, and I didn’t like it. The haircut itself was ok (well, at least my wife thinks so) but there’s something else that comes with the territory at a barber’s shop: the mirror. The dreaded mirror.

I can gladly get through most of life without having to look in the mirror too often. I usually get ready for work in the semi-darkness before the rest of the family stirs, so I manage to avoid the reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the front of my bedroom wardrobe. I’m not trying to confess some deep-seated insecurity here, but there’s something about mirrors which makes me a little uneasy. So having to effectively stare at myself while there’s a haircut going on up top for 10-15 minutes is akin to mild torture.

And then there’s my kids. As a parent, I don’t need any mirrors around to regularly catch an all-too-familiar reflection of myself. Even though it’s not always a bad thing, it’s inescapable. My children echo everything about me.

I’m sure some of it is because of biologically inherited characteristics, but I’m no genetics expert and as the years pass I see more and more of myself in how they speak, behave, spend their time, etc, etc …

Words

It’s not just the vocabulary they use, it’s the tone of voice. My kids are an almost perfect echo of what I say and how I talk. Perhaps that’s something I should celebrate, because it demonstrates that I really enjoy talking with my children. They entertain, inspire and educate me in conversations every day. They also learn to copy me. Which is fine … most of the time.

I generally succeed in avoiding to swear within earshot, but that’s not the whole story. As well as the laughter and my poor quality impressions, they also pick up on the despairing tone, the frustration, even the anger. The echo that comes back at me is not always pleasant listening.

Actions

The latest trick that my children have learned is to copy some of my odd little mannerisms. The two current favourites are the glasses-off-tired-eyes-rub and the downward-face-wipe, which I know are both signs of weariness. Does this mean that I’m not at my alert best when with the kids, or just that time with them it totally exhausting? Probably a bit of both.

Either way, I need to watch how I act and react in their presence. One of my biggest weaknesses is road rage. I have no patience with careless/ungrateful/inconsiderate drivers. I regularly fail to hide this even with my kids in the car. Whatever my children are learning from seeing me like that, it’s not good.

Values/Attitudes

This is the big one, and the scariest. Although other family members, friends and teachers all play their part in forming my children’s systems of values and beliefs, I know that it’s predominately down to us as parents. My attitude towards other people (see the road rage reference above!), my religions beliefs, my care (or lack of) for the planet, my use of time, my use of money, my positive/negative outlook on life.

It’s all already there. Every day, everything that I say/do/think is gradually seeping in to my children’s lives as they spend time with me, watch me, learn from me, listen to me, and mirror me.

Sometimes, it fills me with parental pride. At other times, the echo is too loud.

—

Coming next: I’m drafting a post about becoming middle-aged. But I want to know when you think that phase of life begins. If you had to put an age on it, when would it be? Please take part in my Facebook poll here. Thanks!

Are we nearly there yet?

The phrase in the title of this post is one that sends shivers down the spines of most parents, especially when uttered by your offspring just a short while into a long journey. That sense of dread and foreboding can sink even the most buoyant of hearts.

Some of you may even have heard that phrase uttered by your children on journeys this weekend when travelling to visit friends or family for Christmas. For our kids, these words are often nothing more than an over-flowing of excited expectation about what awaits them at the end of the journey. Or just plain boredom!

At this time of year, that sense of expectation is probably at an annual high as your kids wait for all that’s in store on 25 December (as heightened by this mysterious and unnecessary 25th door on my daughter’s advent calendar!)

However, that’s not really what this post is all about.

We can all learn ways to deal with those back-seat-of-the-car protestations, but perhaps that phrase has a much deeper meaning when it flies through the head of many parents.

So often we long for the end of the current ‘phase’ of parenting. We strain our eyes to see the distant horizon, or limp along towards the oasis in the desert when we crave for things start to get easier. Have you ever found yourself looking forward to the months or years around he corner (‘We must nearly be there by now!’), and forgetting to completely engage with the challenges and joys of whatever you and your kids are going through in the present?

I’ve heard all the wisdom of more experienced parents with their jaded views of the different phases of their kids’ lives : ‘It never gets easier’, ‘You never stop worrying’, or even ‘The only thing that changes is they get more expensive’. I’m not going to argue with those who have the battle scars to prove it, but is that really what it’s all about? Do I have to settle for that disheartening view of my children’s development, while I develop as a parent? No, gladly.

Several friends have recently set out on the parenting journey for the first time, and I’ve been trying to recall what those first few phases are like. The main thing that springs to mind is the constant re-adjustment as the routine changes, or as you try new ways of dealing with the seismic changes in your child’s eating/sleeping/playing habits (which can appear to be almost daily). I regularly found myself thinking ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ when totally desperate to get enough rest in order to function the following day!

But (as the voices of experience suggest) do we ever actually get ‘there’? Is there a time in the future when I can look forward to serenity and peace in my life and parenting?

Maybe not, but I can choose to relish each phase of parenting to the maximum. I can choose to enjoy the delight in my kids’ eyes as they explore, learn and experience new things. I can choose to endure the tough times because that perseverance of getting through together (with my wife and children) will strengthen the bonds between us and be the foundation of the better times that lie ahead.

Even though the end of your difficult ‘phase’ may sometimes feel a long way off, don’t just sit there and wait for the journey to end. We all know that’s a sure-fire way of making the subsequent period of time seem to last forever!

So, whichever part of the journey you’re on, and however arduous it may feel at the moment, hang in there! And have a Happy Christmas.