#8 - Making memories

A beam of light hits me like a dart through the blind that doesn’t quite shut properly any more. I’ve been too scared to fix it or even try, catastrophising over how much worse it could be, but at this moment I regret my subpar DIY skills. It’s early, about 6:20 am, but the daily morning routine is about to begin - and I can’t wait! My watch is preparing itself to cheerily tell me that my stress level is higher than normal. Well, the good news is that today, and for the next few months it’ll likely be even higher. The comfortable jeans and hoodie coolness of spring is making way for the unpleasant warmth and stickiness of summer. I’ve never enjoyed hot weather, but since having kids I've grown to dread it - and mostly for one reason: sun block.

When you are about to have a child, everyone is keen to tell you how tired you’ll be, how your life is going to change, how stinky the nappies are, how much hard work it all is… but that it’s worth it. It is worth it, I agree, but I’m here to tell you that the single most frustrating part of having a child is needing to cover them with sun block. On those mornings when you’re already operating on a tight schedule to get them ready for school, when they seem incapable of doing anything at speed, and don’t understand the reality of time itself… on those mornings applying sun block might be the single most infuriating task any human ever has to do. I admit that I’ve not attempted every task humans have to do, but my mind simply can’t comprehend anything more soul destroying.

Most tasks in life might be tricky the first few times, but you improve with practice. Getting a child dressed is unexpectedly awkward at first, but not so much when you’re on your second kid. Brushing a child’s teeth, second nature after a couple of years despite the constant protestations. Go near a child with sun block, though, and… have you seen any of The Conjuring films? I honestly think the husband and wife demon banishers in that film series would struggle here, such is the level of animal-like possession seemingly taking control of perfectly lovely children.

Touch an arm with a roll-on applicator and it’ll be all over their school clothes, giving the impression that a pigeon evacuated overhead. Apply a small amount to a cheek and they’ll somehow contort their face so you end up rubbing the cream into their eye! Want to cover their ears? Go for it, but just know you’ll get it all over their hair too, which might trigger a small meltdown. A meltdown that, I should add, is nothing compared to what will happen when you get to the final part: the front of the neck. OMFG, someone put me out of my misery or at least give me a pillow to scream into!

Children are stubborn things, obsessed with themselves and things that they want to do. They don’t listen to reason. Or sense. Or me, it seems.

“Listen, I don’t want you to get very sore skin. The sun is very hot and you’ll be upset if your neck hurts.”

“Don’t say that to me again!” she yells back at me, now in an almighty huff because I am daring to keep her protected. She gives me the stare I fear.

There’s only one tactic that ever works when the cream is starting to curdle: the “you’re going to be late” play.

“Right,” I say, dejected, defeated, desperate. “I’m going to have to call the school and tell them that you’re going to be late. We’ll have to go in through the office.”

“Nooooooooo,” she screams, while running over to accept her fate (being protected from the sun), the indignity of arriving late to school apparently far worse than my spiraling sense of well-being.

I feel bad. I don’t like to use threats, but sometimes having kids is like operating the world’s most complex machine without a handbook. 

It’s only April. We’ll go through this performance every morning until at least the end of September. Good luck to my stress levels!

“I’ll be better tomorrow, Daddy. I promise.”

I cling onto hope.

Have you ever essentially cheated to do something you were finding more difficult than you’d imagined? My mind goes back to the various stealth games I absolutely couldn’t play properly, failing time and time again to do things as I was being asked to. Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, a game I adored the vibe of, but simply struggled to play in a way that brought out its best side. My main memories are of being holed up in a ventilation shaft, picking off alerted foes one by one as they attempted to find me, bodies piling up as if to the soundtrack of Paddington - the thrill, the danger, completely gone. Emergent gameplay at its very best, I’m sure you’ll agree. 

This newsletter isn’t entirely about shoehorning video games into parenting advice/calls for help (I have other interests too). I’ll have a think about some other bits and pieces and round them up in the quick reviews below. I’m a critic, too, you see.

Things I can review:

• Giving a child a bike (birthdays): In the months leading up to my daughter’s fifth birthday she confidently declared that she wanted a bike. I was somewhat surprised by this as my son never really showed an interest in bikes, but it’s simply the latest example of how different they are. Scooters, which both my kids have had, fill me with fear, but bikes are on another level. I’m somewhat of a worrier, so the prospect of my daughter hurting herself by careering off into a wall made me rather concerned. The big day arrived, stabilisers installed, helmet secured, and while my concern remained the joy on her little face was worth it. She peddled up and down the seafront and loved every second. “I’m a bike rider now Daddy.” 5 smiling faces out of 5 wobbly moments.
• Apex (Netflix): This cat and mouse thriller was simply so-so, not gripping enough nor terrifying enough for me to care about the outcome as I ate my lunch, but it did bring to my attention the mind-melting concept of a tent pitched on the side of a cliff-face, sort of just hanging there. I’m not what you might call a daredevil, so it hadn’t crossed my mind that anyone attempting a long cliff climb would need to stop and rest overnight, while still on the sheer face. It’s quite frankly completely terrifying. 2 impossible pull-ups out of 5 rock falls.
• Writing (a computer): I’ve spent a fair amount of time this last week or so going back to a kid’s book I was writing - something I started during the Covid years but found hard to get motivated to finish once my daughter was born. After rewriting a chunk and adding some new backstory, I read it through fresh from start to finish, and damn if it’s not nearly as good as I thought it was. I don’t know how other writers think, but I can see the entire story quite vividly in my head, essentially like a film, but I don’t know if that translates well to a book. Anyway, I’ll go back to it at some point, and hopefully one day put it into the world in some form. 1 main character out of 5 unresolved subplots.