Working 9 to 3 - Making School Work

I've blogged before about the classic milestones of childhood being far less interesting than those that go unrecorded and often unremarked. The first time your kid's a hypocrite, anyone? Without doubt one of the real biggies is First Day at School. This phenomenon has an extraordinary effect on even the most social media averse. The obligatory doorstep photo really does seem as compulsory as the NHS clap was during the first lockdown. If an Englishman's home is his castle his doorstep is definitely his family's shop window.

And yet in the Hardy household this particular moment of my child's life (unlikely practically every other millisecond) went unsharented. This might be for the basic reason that I was belting off to court at exactly the time Hardy 1 was making his scholastic debut. It might also be that the school that we just managed to drag ourselves into the catchment area for (and I really mean just, with a waiting list place being made available a couple of days before term started) has no time for such spirit crushing and independence stifling things as uniforms. Something which, for me at least, has been rather discombobulating. My educational endeavours involved more uniforms than Lord Mountbatten would know what to do with. They included brown knickerbockers, gold and russet cravats, tweed jackets, grey flannel trousers, tail coats, stiff collars, white bow ties, mortar boards (even pink carnations for heaven's sake!). Is it any wonder I've ended up in a job involving wigs and 17th century cosplay?

In reality though I think it's because starting school has provoked some intensely, I might go so far as to say, aggressively ambivalent feelings in me. Obviously I am hugely excited that formal education is underway and that his days of making mud pies in the nursery sand pit will fast be a thing of the past. But the fact of the matter is that school and specifically the school day is a complete grenade in the functioning of the family timetable. Drop off is after the start of the working day and pick up is hours before the end of it. In a fully employed household that creates a real childcare conundrum, apparently there are these mythical concepts 'Breakfast Club' and 'After School Club', but I have more chance of winning a place in Valhalla than getting my kid into either of those.

It is very difficult to avoid the conclusion that those in government responsible for administering the education system just do not want both parents in work and it's pretty obvious which parent it is they expect not to be. When I grumbled about this on Twitter someone reasonably observed that small children can't be expected to engage in formal learning until 6 pm and I quite agree. Expecting a 5 year old to be hard at work at their Latin Primer gone cocktail hour is absurd. But sport, art, music, theatre, play, is that not an education also? I know, I know, I know, there are no playing fields, there's no money for instruments and the too few teachers that there are need to get home to plan to Ofsted's satisfaction.

I have absolutely no doubt that I'm about to discover there is a very good reason why school chuck out time falls right in the middle of the afternoon court session but as a newcomer to the game it does seem a very strange rule.

When Anthony Nolan came knocking - Part 1

 

There aren't many decisions you make 20 years previously which out of the blue suddenly demand your immediate attention. Investing in Premium Bonds, if you miraculously one day become a winner, might be one of them. Another is finding out you're a match.

When I was at university I decided to give blood donation a go. While there Anthony Nolan were swabbing; as I was about to have a needle stuck in my arm having my mouth swabbed seemed a trifling imposition by comparison. So I signed up without hesitation. For some days afterwards I wondered when I would hear back. But the days turned into weeks, then months, then years and finally decades.

All that time I knew I was on the register but it wasn't exactly at the forefront of my thoughts. Until last week: I emerged from court, turned on my phone and saw a missed call and a text message. The voicemail and the text said the same thing. I was a match and needed to call back as soon as possible.

I'm ashamed to admit that my very first reaction was that maybe this was some kind of weird scam. That was quickly followed by a restless excitement, then nervousness and finally the classic barrister's worry of how this would fit into my diary. I rang straight back and spoke to an extremely nice man who explained all the next steps.

He said I would need to provide a blood sample and asked if he could arrange for the nurse to see me during the call. I idiotically thought for a moment he meant literally then and there on a street corner in Huntingdon. He clarified that while they were keen they weren't that keen. Instead he asked if the following day would be convenient. I said it was.

After the call I was sent a questionnaire to complete with my health history. It also asked me to confirm my contact details and I was briefly thrown by seeing my childhood landline. Fortunately I have only ever had one mobile phone number and email address but I realised in that moment what a headache it must be when a match is found and contact details are years out of date. IF YOU'RE ON THE REGISTER PLEASE UPDATE THEM TODAY.

The next day a nurse turned up promptly in mask and apron. She had a blood pressure cuff on my right arm, an oximeter on my left hand and a temperature gun against my head within a couple of minutes. I made a note of the stats and have already taken steps to address a rather higher blood pressure reading than I would have liked to see.

For now my blood is in the lab for final checking of compatibility. I do not yet know whether I will be found suitable for donation or not. There is no doubt in my mind that I will do it if I am. I was told there is a 1 in 900 chance of being a match.

While I'm on this wholly unexpected journey that I put my name down for all those years ago I thought I might keep a record of my thoughts and experiences. Most of all however I want to take this opportunity to urge you to register if you have not. Almost every one of us would accept a donation if we were gravely ill and, in my view, this is one of those occasions in life when it is genuinely better to be able to give than to have to receive:

https://www.anthonynolan.org/help-save-a-life/join-stem-cell-register

Parenting at See Level

There are occasions in life when you know before someone has even tied their laces or stepped on a stage that they will make a match winning footballer or a scene stealing actor. But then there are times when Escoffier like skill in the kitchen or Dürer-ability with a pencil can come as a complete surprise. One of the many joys of parenting is seeing your children’s more predictable talents come to fruition but then being blindsided by their hidden talents appearing like a conjuror’s rabbit. 

Talent at parenting is not a quality we are very well trained at perceiving or indeed cultivating before the moment comes. And yet I would suggest it is a top three prerequisite when it comes to mate selection along with certainty that they’re not a feckless swine with the household finances and that they won’t forget your birthday. 

How do you tell if someone will make a good parent? Well, an obvious starting point is to see how they are around children. By which I obviously don’t mean get them to hang around the local school at chuck out time. In fact, this particular example of ‘try before you buy’ can be quite hard to engineer as first you will need to procure a child. Unless your parents had a really serious accident that is very unlikely to be a sibling. Here, definitely, nephews and nieces come into their own. 

Suggest to your prospect (not on the First Date!!!) hanging out one afternoon when it just so happens you’re doing the babysitting. Are they washing their hair even though they’ve been bald since 25? Then there’s your answer. Try to ensure that they are actively involved. Anyone can feign parenting potential in the passive mood. Does their jaw clench at the first sign of infant restiveness? Or are they down on the floor faster than a Navy Seal. 

And here’s the Max Hardy secret patented parenting assessment. I have learned that there is one absolutely unimpeachable litmus test for parental promise. How are they on the floor? I don’t mean like that, obviously. I mean are they content at child level, quite literally. Good parenting requires good communication and good communication requires good eye contact. Unfortunately, small child eyes are about 3 feet from the floor, what I like to call the ‘see level’. 

If they get down there like a horse at the knacker’s yard then you’ve got a problem. They might talk the talk but if they don’t walk the walk, by which I mean crawl the crawl, then you’re looking at a parenting passenger. And I can tell you it takes one to know one.

Breastfeeding and Blokes

 

'About which you know nothing say nothing' is a maxim I try to bear in mind when yet again I imprudently decide to venture my opinion in a public forum. I sometimes think an international moratorium on opinions and takes would do more to achieve world peace than the UN has ever managed to do. Therefore it is with a significant dose of caution that I set out here some thoughts on World Breastfeeding Week which ends on Saturday.

Just as it remains something of a mystery to me quite how many gynaecologists and obstetricians are still men there are few topics where the views of men are perhaps less welcome or useful than breastfeeding. I would not countenance to address such views that I do have to women or mothers, other than to observe that a fed baby is a healthy baby and a fed baby is a happy baby. If that remains your lodestar you're unlikely to go far wrong.

Where I feel I am qualified to speak is to men and fathers. The first thing I have to say is that this week applies to you too. If you think breastfeeding is only of concern to women and mothers then you think babyfeeding is only of concern to mothers, then you think babycare is only of concern to mothers, then you are an absent father, whether you're under the same roof or not. 

If you're thinking of having children, if your partner is pregnant, if you're driving home from labour it is never too early nor too late to talk about babyfeeding. The important thing, however, is that you do talk. You may never have given a moment's thought to breastfeeding or you may have read every study ever published on the topic but if you don't talk there is no dialogue and without dialogue there is room for confusion, assumption, anxiety and, worst of all, guilt.

Guilt afflicted parenting in the early days and weeks is about the most destabilising thing a parent, particularly a mother, can go through. If you the father are offering unconditional support without judgement then guilt should wither before it can take root. But offering support without judgement requires you to examine your opinions and views. What they are and, more importantly, where they come from.

Like all genuinely useful things in life, how to apply for a mortgage, how to change the wheel on a car, breastfeeding is not taught in schools. One of the greatest misconceptions in life is that because something is 'natural' it is easy. Breastfeeding is not easy. It requires teaching, it requires learning, it requires patience and it requires support. If your partner wants to or is trying to breastfeed then agitating against that and impeding her is the worst thing you can do. Do not EVER think that you have any claim on her breasts, still less imply that you do.

Because many women do not, these days, have the benefit of being surrounded by supportive and nurturing old hands to show them exactly how it's done you need to consider what they (and you) are surrounded by and that is advertising. Advertising that says that a paid for product is the answer to any and all difficulty. Sometimes it may be but sometimes that difficulty can be overcome with advice from the right source and reassurance from the right direction. Find that advice and be that reassurance.

All the statistics suggest that in Britain we don't breastfeed very much or for very long. If you think that is a shame or a problem take the time to consider why and take the trouble to investigate the reasons for that. It is a complicated issue but it should not be a frightening or alien one. Most of all it's not just a mothers' issue.

Geared up for parenting: Fitting it all in

 

Whether you have a rich and expansive imagination or you're Mr Literal you will understand, on one level at least, that having a baby will change your life. A child adds complication, exhaustion and joy, it subtracts time, money and sleep. Much (much, much, much) is written about the sleep deficit. In the middle of the night or at 0500 for the 10th day in a row that stolen sleep feels like a heist on your life force. But in truth even the worst sleeping baby eventually works out that night is night and day is day.

The financial hit most certainly does not go away and the brutal reality is that having a kid is like trying to fill a bath with no plug when it comes to money. But you cut your cloth, you do what you have to in order to manage. And you do, you survive, if lucky, you thrive.

So sleep returns, the books are balanced. But time? Well there are 24 hours in a day and it doesn't matter how old your child is that won't change. Likewise, high earner or low, you can't remake the clock. And reconciling with this reality is one of the most fundamental and yet most difficult tasks of parenthood. I don't know about you but when I'm short on time I get stressed and when I'm stressed I get angry. Being stressed and angry is great if you're the Incredible Hulk, it's pretty lousy if you're a barrister and bloody terrible if you're a dad.

One of the problems I have to wrestle with is that if you're a barrister you have a court day, you have a prep day, you have a life evening and you have a sleep night. When you insert a child or two into that routine you have to contract something else. You can't contract the court day because it's not yours to contract. If you contract the sleep night you will come a cropper very fast. That leaves the prep day and the life evening. Obviously the life evening is the first to be sacrificed. But when that's done for it leaves the prep day.

The prep day is personal to every barrister. Only you know when you feel ready. Only the judge and the jury get to decide if you actually are ready. Going to court when you don't feel entirely ready is genuinely one of the most uncomfortable experiences I know. Like starting a marathon when you haven't done the training or turning over an exam paper when you haven't done the revision. Apart from being uncomfortable and frightening it's obviously extremely unprofessional.

So the prep day has to remain as sacrosanct as possible but that then puts it into conflict with the parenting day. The most difficult thing being that the parenting day is actually pretty predictable, after all, children thrive on routine. But the barrister's prep day is never, ever predictable. Sometimes there is no prep. Sometimes the prep wipes out the parenting day, the life evening and a good chunk of the sleep night. And that can go on for days or even weeks. Quite often you expect no or little prep then suddenly a skeleton needs drafting or a trial comes in without notice. Occasionally you anticipate heavy prep and it all goes away because your client pleads or a court hearing is vacated.

However bad this is for you it is an utter, utter nightmare for your co-parent. Successful parenting depends first and foremost on good communication but only a pace behind is predictability. Being reliable. Showing up on time, ready to go. If you prioritise the prep then reliability goes out the window. However if you sacrifice the prep the parenting is stressed and you're angry. Children are emotional barometers and sponges and the outlook has to be fair and settled if you want them asleep and settled.

I can't pretend to have found a complete solution to this problem, other than chuck it in and get a 9 to 5, but two things that really help are enormous self-discipline and gearing. In relation to the former that means doing one thing at a time and not just with your hands but with your head as well. If your head is stuck in a case when you're looking after a child you're not looking after a child. Likewise if you're getting to your feet in court turning over what you want to say at the Parent/Teacher evening you're cheating your client.

By gearing I mean learning how to transition from one activity to another. When divers ascend they have to do so at a particular speed to avoid the bends. It's exactly the same with work and parenting. Switching immediately from one mode to another guarantees that you will be in the wrong head space. Like the gears on a bicycle you can't expect to switch straight from top gear to bottom gear. You need to keep the gears oiled and you need to learn how to use them adroitly and quickly. When you manage this the transitions between the parts of the day become at least bearable.

The End of Parenting - Getting the job done

 

When babies are born they're all me, me, me. Agonisingly slowly they come to be aware that other people exist. Even more slowly they come to care about other people's feelings, including those of theirs parents. Then eventually, many, many years later, maybe they come to care about their parents' needs (maybe).

One of my earliest blogs commented upon the blinding realisation of what your parents did for you, however inadequately, that comes upon you when you have a child of your own. Because until you are a parent yourself the parent/child dynamic between you and your parents will remain just that, whether you are 6 and they're 36 or you're 66 and they're 96. When you have a child the equation becomes parent - child/parent. 

It is just as well that most children are entirely oblivious to their parents' needs. Imagine how miserable childhood would be if you were constantly alert to your mother's grievous lack of fulfilment or your father's career disappointment? Obviously the brutal reality for many children is that there is some undeveloped awareness of just those issues but ultimately actually being an adult and seeing your parents as adults rather than just caregivers takes the time it takes.

It sometimes feels that a large part of parenting is protecting children from adult problems, experiences, temptations and disappointments. When those things come prematurely they're perceived but not understood and thereby are planted some very unhealthy seeds for the future. If, on the other hand, all that shepherding and shielding succeeds then, like film classifications, all your child's life experiences will be age appropriate ready for the full smorgasbord when they hit 18.

What sometimes gets lost in the paranoia and hysteria about what children may be seeing and doing online and 'too soon' adult content and experiences is that children don't, can't and mustn't remain children forever. Proper parenting involves getting children ready to be adults so that when they fly the nest (assuming they do) they don't hurtle straight to the ground.

Keeping your child in a state of arrested development, interestingly, can actually be a lot easier than ensuring they go through all the gears in the right order at the right time. The penalty for failing to ensure that happens is they never lose their L plates as adults. And, as my wife can periodically attest, there is nothing more unattractive than a 40 year old child.

The Holy Grail of parenting is having your child one day look you in the eye, metaphorically if not literally, and say I see you as your own person with your own hopes, wishes, needs and desires and, what is more, insofar as I can I will support you in achieving them.

From that moment on although your child will remain forever your child your fundamental task as a parent has been fulfilled. It also augurs well as a realisation on your child's part that the inexorable ravages of time will one day see them ministering to your needs when you are no long able to attend to them yourself.

This is me - Children the unforgiving mirror

If you can't handle me at my worst you don't deserve me at my best was not in fact Marilyn Monroe's quip but it's a declaration that enjoys increasing impact in our times of self-actualisation and aggressive authenticity. It is the misfortune of many children that they see too much of their parents' worst and too little of their best.

I thought, absurdly, before becoming a father that I was inching towards some basic level of self-knowledge. The kind of man that I was and why. How wrong I was. Forget the mirror in Snow White, if you want to know yourself just have kids. Be warned, however, that you are very likely to find that you are not the fairest of them all.

Just as adversity provides the truest test of character having a child reveals you for who you really are. Are you patient? Are you hard working? Are you compassionate? Are you fun? In my case the answers being no, no, no and, just for the sake of consistency, no. In many respects the world of work represents a blank canvas upon which you get to choose, or at the very least have some agency over, how you depict yourself. Not so parenting.

When your baby is born a remorseless spotlight switches on and there is no hiding place, there's no covering up your weak spots or delegating the dull bits. That is unless you're prepared to pay, (and pay, and pay).

The more you pay for childcare the more you gain in terms of time, sanity and sleep. But just as if you paid someone to sit your driving test for you if you pass the buck while handing over the pounds you may just find that while you have your parenting licence you haven't the faintest idea what makes your child work and when their engine packs up on the side of the road you can only stand helplessly watching steam billow from the bonnet.

I have found that, in many respects, I'm not the father I hoped or thought I would be, which amounts to discovering I'm not so much the man I wished I was. This domestic voyage of discovery is apt in some parents, particularly fathers I might suggest, to conjure some rather difficult feelings. Little wonder it is then that some seek to suppress those feelings by throwing money at the problem or by running away.

But the thing about feelings is that if you don't sit with them you will find that they sit on you, not today, not tomorrow but some day when it's least convenient. I have, without doubt, learned more about myself in the last 4 years that I have in all 40 that I have lived. That I have enjoyed the lesson about as much as I enjoyed learning the past tense in Ancient Greek is not really the point.

If we're not tested we never discover what we're capable of but worse than that we never really find out who we are.