There was a time when a simple promise of a hug or a favourite bedtime story would persuade the offspring that the task demanded of them might at least be attempted. Cauliflower cheese swallowed with a grimace, toys picked up and thrown into a basket, walking the last 200metres back to the car rather than being carried.
As their age increases so does their wisdom, and the ability of a primary school child to negotiate for a shorter walk, a smaller portion, a sleepover, shows remarkable development from the age of four in Reception class through to the top of the heap Year Six. Staying up a little longer to watch a favourite programme instead of a double whammy of Bob the Builder, four friends back instead of one. Yes, okay, if you tidy your room. Why don't you come with me to walk the dog and we'll stop off at the bakery on the way home - surely one negating the other from the point of view of the humans involved!
And then the ball game changes again. Just when you thought you had it sussed. Washing up occasionally is non negotiable; they want to eat and expect the maternal one to rustle up a tasty meal whilst they lounge in front of the screen-god, then sometimes mum gets to walk on out into the garden or slope off to do the ironing instead of plunging her arms into a sink full of soapy suds. But - the bribes are for different reasons now: if they mow the lawn, parental permission will be given to go to the party you'd really rather they didn't; if they get off their backsides and come out for a bit of fresh air (do they remember what that feels like?), mommy dearest will take them into the nearest shopping haven for the afternoon and worry a little less that their gaming thumbs will wear out and their eyesight become myopic by the time they hit 20.
Ten days ago I lost my reading glasses. Until very recently if I had mentioned this I might have got a 'What's it worth?' in reply. No offers this time. I promised a chocolate bar to anyone who could find them. Not a single offspring looked up or stirred. One, in the misguided hope that I may be fooled, has proffered an old pair of glasses a couple of times, hoping to claim the chocolate. No one else is remotely interested.
I announced yesterday evening that I might take them up to London for the day over half-term. An annual occurence at the minimum, we usually visit the sights, find a museum or manage a little shopping. This time I thought the historian amongst them might like to visit the part of the British Museum most relevant to his course. Well, he hates museums, so I wasn't going to kid myself that it was an easy sell, but cowboys and indians, what's not to like? All four have turned down the prospect of a trip to the big smoke with snorts of derision. Do I resort to chocolate bars and tales of lunch in one cafe, coffee stops in others? Should I promise all things car for the boys, shopping for the girls? They didn't even look up - I think I know when I'm outgunned!
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