Drawing on your stepchildren is fun.

The night before we went camping Chaos-man crept into the boys' room and carefully, amid fits of shaking silent laughter, me standing in the doorway, fists shoved into my mouth, drew large curly mustaches and goatee beards on each of his children with my eyeliner.

In the morning Bigmad woke up first, and appeared in our doorway sleepy and stretching, mustache still proudly sitting above his top lip. Keeping straight faces and trying not to meet each others eyes, we answered his questions about camping and our trip away. SmallMad woke up soon after and came bounding into our bedroom, stopping short when he saw his brother. "YOU'VE GOT A MUSTACHE!" he cried, pointing at his brother, who looked at him incredulously in return. "WHAT? SO HAVE YOU!" They both scrambled for the mirror and examined their faces with horror as we cracked up with helpless laughter.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAD! YOU DRAWED ON US!". They were even more horrified when they found out it was girls make-up we used, and they've been plotting revenge ever since. I've told them we sleep with our eyes open, but I'm half-expecting a counterattack and have hidden all the permanent markers and highlighter pens just in case.

Easter in the sun.

The boys were a little worried that the Easter bunny wouldn't be able to find us at the campsite. They explained that he "flies through the air with his ears, carrying Easter eggs for all children." laughing we reassured them that their helicopter-eared bunny loves camping and would find them just fine.

On the Saturday night we had to ban any mention of the E-word due to Easter-egg mention overkill. When we tucked them up that night I told them to go to sleep quickly as the next day would come quicker.
"Yes and it'll be Easter and we'll have our Easter eggs" said SmallMad, correcting himself hastily "though we don't talk about it".

Easter day dawned and a quick scan of the tent by two sleepy boys revealed no Easter eggs. Puzzled, the children allowed themselves to be herded into the car to help their dad get some milk. When they were gone, the pajama-clad Easter bunny balanced 5 chocolate eggs in a small tree next to the tent, and sat back down to enjoy hercoffee in the morning sun. Not a chance. Wildlife likes Easter too and the lads in the tent next to us were treated to the sight of me dancing around in my night attire, throwing empty beer cans at over-interested crows and gulls.

Needless to say the returning children were overjoyed when I pointed out that the silly bunny had obviously aimed a little wide. Ignoring our warning not to get too used to chocolate for breakfast (after the great and terrible chocolate spread tantrums, we've not allowed the stuff across the doorstep when the boys are with us) and happily stuffing themselves brimful "right down into my legs", they commented that they loved holidays like this "like Christmas and birthdays where you get stuff". Mercenary, but honest!

Trepidation and tides.

This weekend I am going camping for the first time with the Mads. I am a little nervous as we've not as yet all gone away together, let alone all slept in the one small tent.

We've just put two overexcited little boys to bed with promises of sausage sandwiches, meeting some crabs, playing in the sea and sleeping in a tent. This weekend promises to be one of the wettest, most inclement weekends in a while and we've packed a lot of towels, a lot of savlon, and a little wine.

Wish us luck, and I'll update this on my return.

The Boys on Water.

Chaos man is sometimes compelled to make impulsive purchases. His latest, fully endorsed by me, is a canoe. At first I was a little nervous about getting in it, especially because our nearest water-body is the Birmingham-Worcester canal. I informed him that I thought canals were full of scum and dead dogs but he reassured me that canals were now nice and clean, and devoid of ex-canines.

After kitting out the boys in little life-jackets, complete with whistles which were fully and enthusiastically being tested until I pointed out they didn't yet need rescuing, we headed down to the canal.

Before we left I mentioned grumpily that the canal would probably be full of scum and dead dogs so they needed to be careful in the boat in case they fell in. SmallMad was very excited and wanted to take his water pistol to "SHOOT THE DEAD DOGS!"

We inflated our craft, and launched it into the surprisingly pleasant-looking canal. Chaos man had a little go, then we plonked BigMad in the front with him. Father and son, with synchronized paddling and much cheering from us watchers on the bank, headed upstream through glorious countryside, past floating branches, a football, and past a dead duck.

On second glance it was realised the dead duck had a tail.

"DEAD DOG!!!!" screamed SmallMad in glee as I looked pointedly at ChaosMan, but he was too busy trying to steer the boat past the corpse to notice. The Jack Russell floated soggily and dead-ly on.

We swapped seats and I took BigMad out for another go. Whilst we were busy trying not to hit the bank, an elderly couple with their small dog had come down to the opposite bank, perhaps to enjoy the view, perhaps to watch this scene of familial joy. Whichever, SmallMad saw the dog and pointed at it, screaming "Dog! It's going to be DEAD!"

I think he may have been taken out of context slightly as the couple rapidly left.

Buy a canoe. It's fun for all the family. Except the dog.

Brothers at arms.

"DAAAAAD!!!!! HE'S KICKING MEEEEE!!!"
"ARRRGHHHHH! HE'S TRYING TO GET MY FAAACE"
"NOOOOO! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"

The boys sometimes enjoy trying to kill each other, in often violent and inventive ways. Some days it's been a full-time occupation trying to prevent Armageddon. Although we've issued a non-violence policy, punishable by raised dad-voice and the devastating loss of favored toys, they still occasionally end up damaging each other, mostly by "accident" when they are "playing".

I sometimes suspect them of whispering mafia-style death threats to each other when we're not in earshot. "Youse gonna wear concrete shoes brother" speaking sideways out of his mouth, "Meet me at the deserted warehouse on the misty docks at midnight, and you'd better come alone".

I also suspect that even when we think the fight is over and dealt with, the grudge is still being harbored. This was validated by overhearing SM muttering sadistically to himself... "mumble, mumble, my brother needs a handbag...". A vicious threat indeed.

Bigmad is getting wise in his old age and starting to become more self-aware. After getting irritated at his brother - as were we too, he was being a pain - rather than swinging a punch at him, told me with a very grown up shrug of his shoulders and a resigned voice "Well, I suppose when my brother was born, at least I got some free lego".

Growing up,

I'm sure there are moments in the life of any parent or guardian when they'd love to tape-record the things their children say, and play it back to them when they are older.

BigMad was happily walking between me and his dad today chattering about everything, when he said "I hope I don't become hypnotized by those chavvy teenagers and become one when I'm older". We expressed our agreement with his statement but told him that when you become a teenager sometimes you might become a pain in the backside for a couple of years whilst you deal with getting older, and that this was fairly standard. We said if he did this we'd still love him, and would wait for him to become his normal self in a few years.

He replied, full of concern, "I hope I don't do that. I hope I'm a nice teenager and don't smoke or throw things."

When he turns 13 please direct BM to this post.

SharkBait

At tea-time, after a visit to an Aquarium, SmallMad asked me hopefully whether he might one day be eaten by a shark. I explained that Sharks don't generally eat people and if they do, it's because that person was in the wrong place, or was mistaken for a seal. I told him that humans were too bony for Sharkfood, and that they liked fatty animals like seals.

"But what if you were really fat?" He asked. "You'd have to be quite fat for a shark to enjoy munching you!" With a cheeky glint in his eye he asked "How fat... as fat as...... you?"

Slightly piqued, not so much by his comment, but by the muffled sniggers I could hear from the kitchen, I replied "Nope! Fatter than me! Sharks like REALLY FAT things"

He poked me critically in the stomach and instructed me to "EAT MORE! EAT ALL THIS", piling leftover food onto my plate. "this is your FEAST, then we can feed you to the SHARKS!"

The diet starts tomorrow.

Smallmad and the Bird.

Children of four (sorry, nearly five) like birds. They chase pigeons, feed ducks, and put bread out for the sparrows. SmallMad has his own ideas about what birds are for however, and I think this might be our fault. I had the patio doors open last Saturday and pointed out a little baby sparrow sitting at the top a bush, tweeting about the joys of spring. "Look SM! A bird!"

He was quiet for a second before letting out an almighty roar.

"GGGGGRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! BIRD, I'M GOING TO EAT YOU FOR MY DINNER!"

Maybe we've taken the animal/food association thing a little far.

Stepmonster Blues.

Sometimes this parenting of children who aren't yours is an emotional business. Even when you only have them part time, they are still very much with you all week. You think about their welfare, hoping they are safe, not watching too much TV, that they won't be overloaded with sugar when they arrive later and hoping they are happy. You miss them. Funnily enough their dad knows them a little better than I do, and I can't imagine how he feels when we drop them off for another week. I know it tears him apart, and I am so proud of him for his positive attitude.

I've gone from a childless woman in her 30s, to someone influential to the wee hearts and (deranged) minds of two small boys. When I talk about them I see the eyes of my club-loving, beer-swilling, sub-twenty-five years of age friends and colleagues fill with pity. I'm jealous sometimes of their free weekends which unlike mine provide a respite from the working week, and stretch out magically free, full of trips to the pub, walks over the moors, and lazy mornings in bed (we were woken at 6 last saturday morning by BM standing over us "WONDERING if it was time to GET UP!" I bet they didn't get to bounce around the garden on a space-hopper, brandishing a fake sword like ChaosMan did though.

Although I have a fairly active role in the upbringing of the two mads, there are things I am, as a step-person, automatically excluded from. Although this hurts sometimes, it's right that both the boys natural parents be involved over me. Parents Evening this week highlighted this. Although I spend a lot of time encouraging the children to learn, educating them, monitoring their progress and finding out about their school lives, I'm excluded from going to the school, meeting and talking to their teachers and sharing parents evening pride that they're doing well. Maybe one day there will be room for three chairs opposite their teachers but I doubt it.

Their are certain advantages to being a step-person though. The boys tend to come and talk to me about stuff that is bothering them, BM especially. He asks me a lot of questions about his parents divorce, about what my family is to him, about friendship and about school. I answer him honestly and openly, like his Dad would, and I feel privileged that he feels he can come to me. He also shares his knowledge of grossness and bad jokes as he knows I find them as funny as he does. After putting SM to bed, Mr C comes downstairs sometimes to find us rolling about on the sofa in fits of giggles after BM has shared some disgusting but random snippet of information.

When your partner has children there is no guarantee that you'll like them, they'll like you, or that you'll get on at all. Luckily in our case we all seem to quite like each other but it's an odd feeling. Parents have blood bonds with children, and in most cases, automatically love them. Not so with the step-person. That bond might happen instantly, take time, or never happen at all.In any case it takes understanding, patience, and sometimes a very thick skin. I read something which struck home the other day though, which I must remember to tell BM next time he asks me about his newly reconstructed family. "Blood is thicker than water, but love is thicker than blood."

The Career Path of Small Mad. An Update

SmallMad and I were making chocolate rock-cakes the other day. He was having a great time carefully measuring out the flour, adding cocoa, a pinch of salt and chocolate chips and luckily I caught the gravy granules before they were poured earnestly into the bowl."But we NEED some in there!" He broke the egg, picked out the shells and beat it for me.

As he was stirring the mixture he told me he was going to become a butcher. Thinking he'd gotten confused between his professions I asked him if he meant a baker.

"No. I can't become a baker when I'm growed up" he said sadly. I asked him why, and with a surprising amount of self awareness he told me that he'd only probably eat all the cakes.

He paused, cocked his head to the side, and much-cheered up told me that "actually, Yes. I AM going to be a baker. Yum"

I'm glad. His rock cakes were great!