Son of Mine. His hopes. His dreams.
Today – that maybe Mum will make time to construct a little more of Darth Maul’s Sith Infiltrator (“Mum, it amuses me, watching you struggle…”). And a very much looked-forward-to piano lesson.
Tomorrow – a visit to a friend’s house and his weekly football training with his local club.
This month – a fun half-term holiday, perhaps a visit to the cinema? That his request for his favourite dish of moules marinières isn’t ignored for much longer.
The future? Relayed to us at last night’s parents’ evening, overheard by his teacher: Son of Mine and his two best friends discussing university tuition fees, agreeing a house-share and mapping out future careers playing to their collectively agreed strengths – one in history, one in English and his own ‘specialist subject’ – maths.
Daughter of Mine. Her hopes. Her dreams.
Today – that she manages to get her fruit smoothie, made in Food Tech, home without spilling it.
Tomorrow – to end the week without too much more homework, allowing some respite over the weekend to play in the promised snowfall.
This month – that she gets some time in half-term to hang, metaphorically speaking, sloth-like from the comfort of her bed, emerging only to have breakfast perhaps 30 minutes before the rest of the Family have lunch.
The future? Endless possibilities – secondary school is bringing out new favourites alongside the primary school years’ answers to ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Now, a 9-year old’s dream of being a scientist, electrical engineer or contemporary dancer have been thrown aside in favour of a soon-to-be-12-year old’s world of possibilities. A textile artist. A history teacher. Or something to do with music – she has recently found ‘her‘ instrument: the saxophone. Possibly languages, which at the moment, both excite and enthuse her.
My hopes for Children of Mine?
That they continue to enjoy learning at every stage of their life. That they stay healthy, happy and fulfilled in whatever path they choose to take. And like every other parent today, that they don’t rack up massive debt on the way to get to where they want to be; then realise they didn’t want to be there in the first place…
Oh, and that they’ll visit their grumpy old mum and dad when they’re settled in a little cottage in the Lake District. Husband of Mine will be strumming his ukulele and mandolin in the pubs for beer money. I will be avidly blogging, blipping, tweeting and Flickring (or their future equivalents) about my adventures on the fells.