While it is obviously gratifying and reassuring that my 5 year old shares my abhorrence for 'Borrence Johnson' as he insists on calling the Prime Minister there is something quite disconcerting about hearing a Reception age child venturing a political opinion. It's our fault for having the radio on over the toast and jam. Given the state of the world at the moment I'm surprised Radio 4's Today programme doesn't come with a PG 13 rating.
That said, it is startling how quickly breakfast conversation progresses from 'Who is your favourite Power Ranger?' (the pink one obviously) to why Putin is such a very bad man. I know that absolutely none of this gets covered at school so this is all home influence. I thought it would be unalloyed pleasure as I got to foist all my metropolitan liberal elite bien pensantry onto the boy but now that the moment has come I find it's as much fun as a stale macaron from Maison Laduree (I'd put the acute accent in but have no idea how to do it).
I find if there was ever a time for arrested development it's right now when I have to explain that no it's not this hot all the time just because it's Summer and yes it's true that nobody in charge seems to be doing anything meaningful about it. Talking of people in charge it's supposed to be the sex talk that presages the end of childhood innocence but I find it's the explaining why some people think that Donald Trump and Boris Johnson should be in charge of running a fairground stall let alone whole countries.
Scrolling through my 1,001 photos of the children recently I saw one in which the 5 year old looked about 8 and was brought up short. I've been longing for so long for the end to random screaming and felt tips on the wall, on the bed, on my work, on the floor that now that it's here I'm somehow not ready.
Many people say that 6-12 is the purple patch of parenting. Reason (or enough of it) while retaining a glorious devotion to parents with feet of gold not of clay. Day by day more of the world than of the home. But it was looking at a photo of myself aged 14 in company with my father that made me realise that the days are not far off when sullen adolescence will supplant boyish silliness and bluntly I'm not looking forward to it at all.
The whole thing reminds me of the army saying 'Hurry up and wait'. Trying to speed through the tricky parts of parenting to the good bits; like fast forwarding your favourite film. What I'm learning, like all parents do, is it's best to focus on the here and now rather than hankering after a past that is gone or a future that will come in its own good time. As Mrs Roosevelt said that's why they call it the present.
