Talking, again

Talking to myself, again . . .

I have spent large chunks of time with small and larger children, my own and my own’s own and my own’s owns’ own. A constant barrage of ‘Why?’ and ‘No’ from earliest toddlerdom is followed by years of ‘How do you spell . . . ?’ and ‘What does . . . mean?’ and Where’s . . . ?’ interspersed with my homilies on subjects ranging from the inadvisability of wearing four-inch heels and bare legs in the middle of a cold snap to the wisdom or otherwise of sailing in a Force 9 gale.

There have always been animals around as well, mingling with children of various ages and sizes so of course they must be included in conversations. I reassure the birds as I set out their food and ask the fish if all is well in their watery world. There used to be frogs but they have disappeared, possibly having fallen prey to the rats, which in turn fell prey to Barry’s air rifle and, latterly, the cats. However, we still have newts, though we don’t often see them. The plants and trees are given encouragement and I marvel at the bees and congratulate them on their pollen-collecting skills. I even talk to spiders to ask them to please keep their distance. The dogs and cats are always with us and both of us talk to them all the time, probably more than we talk to each other.

There is little wonder then that I talk all the time.

Our children are grown and flown and when they visit everyone talks at once and no-one listens. The dogs and cats listen intently until they have been fed, watered or exercised, then they sleep. I know Barry hears me but often doesn’t listen (or register) for he inhabits another planet entirely so usually my words fall on deaf ears, or at least ears that are selectively deaf.

I can never understand people who say, ‘I didn’t know I’d lost my voice because I hadn’t seen anyone to talk to.’ I would know instantly and then ask myself why I was whispering.

Sadly, I don’t talk now, so much as mutter, as I complain about whatever or whoever has upset me. I am becoming – am already – a GOW. When did the muttering take over from the talking? I can’t put a precise date on it though it may have coincided with Barry retiring from work and spending more time at home. He always has at least three projects on the go at any one time and each activity requires a different set of tools/instruments which must be left out, ‘So I know where they are for the next time I need them.’ The ‘next time’ may be some days, or even weeks, away and meantime the stuff remains in place to gather dust and join the animals in the obstacle course that is ever-present, ever-shifting in my home.

Talking to myself

I've spent a good deal of my life talking to myself. Occasionally I've disguised it as teaching. It can seem that the little children sitting at your feet are drinking in every word when what they're really doing is wondering why your hair looks young when the lines on your face clearly indicate that you're extremely old, just like their mums or, worse yet, their grandmothers. Sometimes a small child will boldly reach out and touch the polished surface of your shoe to see if it really is shiny or just wet. Once in a while an infant will whisper shyly, 'I like your blouse' or even, touchingly, 'I like you'.

Children can be devastatingly honest when young and unhampered by conformity. Very politely a little girl may put up her hand to indicate that she wishes to speak and when acknowledged say, 'Excuse me, I don't like you.' Often actions speak more piercingly than words. Couching instructions in the form of requests – 'Would you like to . . . ?' can be answered by the child shaking his head vigorously or turning his back and walking away. If the instruction/request involves three-dimensional items to be sorted, built, placed, the answer may be an eloquent gesture sweeping the items to the floor, or, if already on the floor, far and wide across the room. Nothing could be plainer – the child does not want to cooperate. If the instruction/request is repeated a little more firmly there are several possible outcomes:-

1: the child acquiesces and does as he is told. Result!

2: the child bursts into noisy sobs and demands her mummy.

3: the child repeats 'NO' with increasing vehemence until your ear drums are ringing, he has turned purple with rage and ends up having a full-blown tantrum, maybe even succeeding in making himself sick.

3: the child throws the items at the nearest adult (you) and possibly aims a kick at your shin.

4: the child wets herself, indicating at the same time, by the volume of the flow, that she has not emptied her bladder since the night before.

5: the child soils himself, indicating at the same time that he consumed far too much fruit yesterday.

None of these outcomes were quite what was in mind at the beginning of the 'lesson'. I believe that the hardworking teachers of very young children deserve more generous pay than their colleagues at the other end of the age range, when students attend lessons (now known as lectures) voluntarily, are usually articulate and toilet-trained, can dress themselves and use a handkerchief and know that writing on walls is unacceptable. Pause here, while I think about this last statement – okay, they know it's unacceptable but do it anyway, arguing the right to free expression.