Everyone is understandably feeling anxious right now. This is a world pandemic. Many people are ill and have died. Many more fall ill and die. It’s a scary time.
With all schools closing in the UK from next Monday, I have been thinking about how best to cope with kids at home, for what could be months.
I am going to try to be organised, and do a mix of activities each day. We’ll see how that goes. By week three, it’ll probably be pjs and popcorn in front of the TV most days. 😐
So, here are some suggestions for myself, and anyone else who may be interested.
Talk to your children about the coronavirus, they will be worried too. It’s better to chat about what is happening (age appropriate) rather than pretend that everything is ok. They will already know that something is wrong if they go to school and/or you watch the news.
Be honest that sometimes people will get on each other’s nerves. But agree we will all try to be kind and work on our patience too.
Most kids and adults will benefit from some structure in their day. I plan to make sure that we are all out of bed and dressed by a sensible time. Doing a mix of different learning, creativity and getting outside, as well as meals and chilling time of course, will probably work well. A few pj and movie days will be ok though, too.
Use school’s resources
Most schools will be sending paper and online resources home with students. Make sure that you make as much use of them as you can. Teachers have worked hard to put them together. If there is an online forum where kids can communicate with their teacher and school friends, even better.
Until we are banned from stepping outside the door, or public parks close (let’s hope that it doesn’t get to that, but it might), make time to go for a walk, scoot or cycle, every day with your kids. Without exercise and fresh air, most people are going to struggle with their physical and mental health, grown-ups included.
There are also exercises that you can do inside, such as pilates, yoga and stretching. There will be loads of ideas online. I found this one which looks good, from the NHS:
Kick the kids out into the garden. If they are old enough, there are many free or cheap tasks that they could get on with unsupervised, if you need to work from home, like:
Make a bug hotel.
Dig a patch of soil and count the number of mini beasts.
List all of the plants, and research their names if you don’t know.
Chalk drawing on paving stones.
Piles of pebbles, Makka Pakka style.
Feed the birds and see who visits.
Draw a plant or item in the garden.
Write a poem about what you can see, hear and smell while sitting outside.
Have a picnic.
Get small pots or a section of the garden for the kids, and plant flowers, fruit and vegetables, and record what does or doesn’t grow.
On rainy days, do puddle jumping, and older children can measure the circumference and diameter of puddles and pebbles.
Measure and record the temperature and rainfall every day.
The RHS website has some great ideas.
Short stories; comics; letters to grandparents and friends; a diary (this is a pretty odd time: it will be fascinating to read back on it years later); facts about their favourite animal. All writing is good.
You don’t need to be too worried about grammar and neat handwriting, unless that’s your thing. More important is encouraging children to write and have fun with it. They could tell you about their favourite book, amd them write their own short version, with their friends’ and family’s names and a major change in it. Such as write Little Red Riding Hood from the wolf’s point of view, or where Cinderella accidently gets lost in the forest and meets the wolf too.
Or they could write a mystery story, where their most precious toy gets stolen, and they are the detective.
They could write their favourite jokes, or make up a recipe for the best dessert ever.
If you have two or more kids, they could write and act out a short play. Base it on well loved film or book, if they can’t think of any ideas.
Ask your kids what they would like to learn more about, get them to do some research and write an essay, story or newspaper article about it. Ideas include frogs, the Amazon rainforest, Disney films, castles, anything that your child finds interesting.
British Library has some good writing ideas, such as writing an animal story or making a miniature book.
Read with children and encourage them to read every day. It doesn’t have to be fine literature: comic books; books that you think are ‘too young’ or ‘too old’ for them; newspapers and magazines all count. If you can’t do anything else, you can read with your kids before bed every night at the very least.
Have a look at #freebookresources on Twitter.
You might not consider yourself to be an artist, but most kids will happily draw, paint or do craft if encouraged to. It doesn’t have to be with expensive supplies either. Use what you have in the house.
– Make a tall tower with only loo roll tubes and sellotape.
– Draw a bunch of fruit, portrait of your brother or your pet.
– Make a comic strip about your friends and family.
– Make cards for friends, to post.
– Scrapbook some photos.
– Let older children take photos on your or their phone or device, and look at them together, discussing which ones were best and why. Is it the subject, light, composition?
– Learn a new skill from Youtube videos.
– Follow artists and illustrators on Twitter, who have regular drawing challenges and art lessons.
#DrawWithRob and #portraitchallenge on Twitter
There are some free paper craft ideas and downloads on this blog:
Maths can be brought into activities such as baking- get your child to measure and weigh ingredients; set up a pretend shop where your child needs to count and give you the correct change; learn fractions with cakes or pizzas.
Let kids research a subject that interests them. They could do a project, with many activities based around a theme. For example, my daughter has been learning about Poland at school. She could draw maps; learn some of the language; make a traditional meal from the country; write a story set in Poland; look for non-fiction books in the library (while they are still open.)
I have found some sites that cover science, maths, quizzes, educational games etc. The BBC has many good resources on their website.
The Beano is always fun, and has some educational stuff.
Let’s be honest, we are all going to go a little mad over the next few months. Try to get everyone to have a little space most days, even if everyone is home. One could go into the garden, one to read in their room, someone else has a soak in the bath. Anything to reduce the stress levels.
Hope that this helps a little, and good luck! 🙂
I am going to come right out with it, something that’s been bothering me for a while: Christians are not always that helpful. Christians are not always great when you are having a terrible time. Sometimes they say stupid, ignorant things. Sometimes they ignore you because that’s easier for them. Sometimes they throw inappropriate and out-of-context Bible passages at you like so many bricks, then walk away smugly, thinking that they have helped, when in fact all they do is make you want to stop going to church, simply to avoid people like them.
Yes, it’s harsh but it’s true. Thank goodness that I put my hope in Christ, and not people. That’s the problem with putting all of your faith in someone human, no matter how much they love you, one day they are going to let you down.
Before I get lots of defensive replies, let me also add that sometimes Christians are literally a God-send. Sometimes they are the perfect friend at the right time, and even though they don’t know what to say; even though they may have never been through trauma, they are still kind. They still give you a little bit of joy or peace.
And, of course, non-Christian friends are wonderful too. If you haven’t got any friends who are not believers, you are missing out. People don’t need to have faith to be kind, honest or generous.
I am in the club with the most expensive membership fee, the club that nobody wants to join: people whose child has died.
Meeting other people who have lost a child can be helpful, tiring and sometimes really sad. I found myself recently in a bereaved parents’ group, and honestly I felt so sad for them. A bit sad for myself certainly, but mostly for them. I was thinking about why I felt this way, amd I think that it’s because even in the most hopeless of circumstances, I have hope.
People who don’t believe in God think that they will never see their child again. If you haven’t had a child die, you have no idea what this is like, but try to imagine it for a second. Most people won’t, because our brains try to protect us from harm. And the death of a beloved child is the most harmful thing that our bodies, minds and spirits will ever have to face. I have had life-threatening cancer at a fairly young age, and I can confirm that this is a walk in the park compared with holding your baby as he breathes his last.
The thought of never seeing your beautiful child ever again for me is the definition of hopelessness. It is sadness, dismay, emptiness, fear and pretty much all of the bad things, rolled into one.
But I do believe that I will see my Samuel again. I did not want him to be ill, I did not want him to die. I get cross with God for putting us through this. It is completely unfair. Please do not tell me that this will work together for our good. But I do know, as much as I know anything, that one day I will see him in Heaven. I will hug him, I will be overjoyed. I have to, probably, want a long time for this meeting. But I look forward to it.
I have hope in the hopless situation, because I know God.
If I did not believe that God loves me and gave up his only son to die on the cross for me, and that he is looking after Samuel for me, I would be inconsolable. I would fall into the depths of despair. Nobody’s kind words or saying that he is a star or a butterfly or an angel now, would help. Superstition and traditions ring hollow. The only person that I put all of my hope into is Jesus. The only thing that shouts truth to me, is what is written in the Bible.
I have faced my own mortality head-on, and it does not scare me. I know where I am going. I know where my baby is. No popular culture or secular academic argument will ever sway me. I must either be completely deluded, or right.
How do I have hope? Even though I am traumatised, harrassed, been physically and mentally ill, grieving, incredibly sad and sometimes very angry? Because I know that God loves me. I don’t know why life has to be so flipping hard, but I know that he will never let me down.
I said that Samuel would be born in May, and I was right.
My induction was scheduled for Monday 29 April in Bristol, but the hospital was too busy that day to fit me in. They called to ask me if I would be happy to get a call sometime overnight to go in. I didn’t want to wait longer than necessary, so I agreed. We thought that it would make more sense to already be in Bristol for if I did get the call at 1am; rather than trying to wake up properly before heading down the motorway.
So Mike and I stayed at a holiday home on Monday night, one that his parents had rented for the week, in order to be close to the hospital when I got the call. My parents were staying in Bristol too, and my sister flew down from Scotland to be near.
We didn’t sleep much that night. Waiting for a life-changing call is not conducive to a good night’s sleep.
Anyway, the place was nice. And we did not get a call in the night. The delivery suite called at 9:00 to ask me to go in to be induced after lunch that day, Tuesday. It was scary, but I was glad to have a time. We had a little walk around and enjoyed a snack at a coffee shop that was too ‘woke’ for us. But the food was good. Later, we had lunch at a lovely pancake/ waffle restaurant near the university.
It was a nice day out with a massive looming event that got closer every minute. Desperate to meet our baby boy that I was, the birth was something that I had been extremely worried about since the formal diagnosis in January.
I just couldn’t picture how I could have a calm natural birth when I knew that Samuel may well die in the first few minutes after birth. Having had two natural labours, I knew that my body could do it. My mind was the problem. If I could have left my brain at the hospital door before going in, I knew that I would probably be fine. But there you go. Brain-removal wasn’t an option.
After lunch, we made our way to the hospital. We sat in a soulless side room for a few hours, waiting for an induction room. This was the low point of the day: a mixture of boredom, discomfort and worry. Finally, a nurse came and spoke to us. She told us that she had arranged for us to go to a suite that is reserved for patients whose babies have died. Although windowless, it was a much nicer place to be. You could make your own drinks or toast in the kitchen, and had a small lounge area as well as a double bedroom and ensuite bathroom.
Samuel had been breech (bum down) the previous week, and had been easily turned. The doctor who turned him said that there was only a 5% chance of him turning into the breech position again. I remember thinking that he probably would take that 5% and turn it into 100%. So I asked for a scan before being induced. It is possible to give birth naturally with a breech baby, but there are risks. I couldn’t deal with any more risks.
The doctor brought the scanner to my suite. It confirmed that Samuel was not head-down and ready for birth. He wasn’t breech either; he was transverse, which means that he was lying sideways. Transverse position is dangerous for the baby and the mum, and you can’t have a natural labour because the baby would get stuck and/or suffer from cord prolapse, putting its life and its Mum’s life in danger. I was told that because of the risks, I wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital. Not really what I was hoping for!
I said that my worst fear about giving birth was that I would have an awful long labour, and then Samuel would die before being born. The obstetrician said that her worst fear was that I would have to have an emergency caesarean section involving a general anaesthetic (sometimes these are required), and then if Samuel didn’t live for long, I may sleep through his entire life, only waking after he had died.
It was then that I realised that having a planned (and therefore calm and non-dramatic and less stressful) c-section was the best option. The doctor agreed, and she said that they would be able to do it first thing the following morning.
I felt peace as soon as the decision was made. I ‘knew’ that it would be a longer recovery for me, but also that a calm swift birth was the best thing for the start to Samuel’s short life. That said, I totally underestimated how painful a recovery from major abdominal surgery would be.
A kind nurse organised for us to sleep in the suite that night, which was a relief as otherwise Mike would have had an uncomfortable night trying to sleep in an armchair next to my bed, in a small sideroom. Usually the suite is only reserved for families post-birth. This was one of many examples of NHS employees going out of their way to get the best possible care for us, above and beyond their job description or pay scale. I hate to think how much all of my and Samuel’s care would have cost in a country like the US, where the medical system seems to be ‘provide the best for the richest, and everyone else can sod off.’
I went into theatre as planned, at about 9:00 on Wednesday 1 May. The doctor and anaesthetist had already visited to introduce themselves to me, explain the procedure and answer any questions that I had. The room was full of doctors and nurses, and everyone was nice. A screen was placed across my chest to reduce infection risks, and also stop me and Mike from seeing my insides. I think that I would have enjoyed seeing my insides tbh; I find surgery fascinating. I was rolled slightly onto my left side, while on my back, prepped and anesthetised (by spinal block, similar to an epidural). I have since found out that the angle is so that the prolific waters, when the incision is made, flow out onto the less experienced doctor. The lead obstetrician stands on the drier right side of the patient.
I felt calm.
After a few minutes, the lead doctor took Samuel from the warmth and security of my womb into the loud, brightly lit world. The time was 9:59. Samuel was born. He gave a gentle cry.
He was handed to me, to lie across my chest for some skin-to-skin cuddles. I looked down at his squishy little face and smiled. I noticed that he was turning dark purple. Loads of froth started to pour out of his nose and mouth after only a few seconds. I knew then that he may well die, after only a very few minutes of life.
We had been warned by his cardiologist that he may live between a few minutes and a few weeks. There was no way of telling how long we would have with him.
He was whisked away. Our carciac nurse Jess, who has been amazing throughout, from when we first met her after my diagnosis, was in theatre too, at our request. She took some beautiful photos of Samuel being born, from the active side of the screen. She told us that she didn’t think Samuel would live for much longer. I tried to reconcile myself to this, while feeling extremely disappointed that it seemed our baby would never get to meet his brother and sister, this side of Heaven.
Two things that we were desperate to achieve during Samuel’s life was for our older kids to meet him, and for us to have a photograph of us together as a family of five. Other events were important too, like meeting his grandparents and getting to the hospice, but we knew that he may not live long enough to reach these goals.
It took about 10 minutes for the doctors to attempt to revive Samuel. I couldn’t see him, but the room was very quiet. Apparently he changed colour from purple to blue to white during this time. I think that he was pretty much dead, or very close to it. I knew that he would have a tragically short life; I just wanted a little longer.
He was resuscitated and handed to Mike. He started to cough. This was a good thing, as it cleared his airways and allowed him to breathe more freely. After a while, he was given back to me to cuddle. I kissed him and said
“Hello Samuel, I am your Mummy.”
Soon after the doctors had finished sewing me up, we were taken to the recovery room. When a woman has a caesarean, she is given some time in the room with her baby, away from the busy maternity ward. Usually her partner isn’t allowed in there. This recovery room had space for two patient beds, with a curtain between them for privacy. The second bed had been cleared out, and a comfy sofa put there instead. There were drinks and snacks on hand. A plastic hospital cot sat in the corner, unnecessarily. Our children, Connor and Bethany were sitting on the sofa, waiting to meet their baby brother.
We got our much-wanted photo of our family of five. 🙂
Both sets of grandparents also got to visit and cuddle their youngest grandchild, as well as my sister Laura, who flew down from Scotland to meet her nephew.
We got many photos. The nurses were lovely and made us all teas and coffees. I was stuck in the bed of course, but the painkillers hadn’t worn off yet. We had lots of cuddles. Some friends from church visited. After the initial scare, Samuel was well and happy. It was a wonderful, peaceful day.
That night, after all visitors had left, we returned to our suite. A senior nurse who works in the neonatal ICU at the hospital, offered to come and sit with Samuel for a few hours after her 12 hour shift had finished, so that we could get some sleep. This is what the NHS runs on, the goodwill and kindness of staff who who stay after their shifts finish; who go out of their way to help; who don’t expect any financial benefit in return.
We got a few hours sleep, and my Mom arrived at 6:00 the next morning to help some more.
We were eager to get to Charlton Farm Hospice as soon as possible, so that Samuel’s entire life wouldn’t be in a hospital. We had visited it a couple of times when I was pregnant, and knew that it would be the perfect place for us to live as a family during Samuel’s life. It is an amazing place.
To be discharged from hospital, I had to show that I could get out of my bed, use the toilet and wash and dress myself.
So at about 8:30, a nurse came to encourage me to get up. I managed to shower and dress without any help, and then, feeling pleased with myself, set about busily packing our numerous bags and so on, naively forgetting that I had undergone major surgery only 24 hours before. I was to pay for that later.
Mike’s parents brought Connor and Bethany back for a visit, and Mike’s brother Phil came too. I was given the good news that I was going to be discharged soon after lunch. Soon, after a few more special visitors, Samuel and I headed off to the hospice in an ambulance, while Mike drove himself and met us there. I worried that Samuel would become ill or distressed during the journey, but he was fine in his little baby pod. We drove over the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which I thought was cool. Samuel was unimpressed.
Another big target achieved: we got to Charlton Farm. Samuel was 28 hours old and doing well.
This Mother’s Day is
our first and last together.
Kicking my belly, so full of life,
You look perfect on the outside.
You’ll never walk,
Never learn to talk,
Not have a first day at school.
You won’t open Christmas presents,
Scrunching the crinkly paper in your little fists
and hiding in a box.
You won’t enjoy cake on your birthday,
Sing nursery rhymes,
Or have friends round to play.
But your life is full of meaning:
Bursting at the seams.
A lifetimes’ memories squeezed
Into a too-short time.
You won’t know fear,
Nor be lonely,
Never be forgotten.
I want you to know
That you are loved.
Our beautiful baby son.
I’m so grateful to be your Mum.
Like many kids, I loved drawing. I would do it a lot: mostly portraits of my cats sleeping, and also making picture books. Once I made a little book called ‘The Woodland Folke’; it was about squirrels and other British animals in a very British setting, which is odd as I didn’t go anywhere near the UK or even Europe until I was 16.
I did art as a teenager too, but slowly grew out of it as I grew older. Nothing unusual there, sadly. As someone once said, every child is an artist, so why are so few adults? It’s so sad, because creativity is brilliant for stress relief and escaping the noise and screens of life.
As a 33 year-old cancer patient, my life suddenly got strangely quiet. Yes, I still had my family and kids and numerous hospital appointments, but there was a lot I couldn’t do. I had chemo fatigue, I was hugely restricted on socialising, and I was house-bound for much of the time. What I could easily do, without leaving the house or being subject to germs, was draw.
I found #shapechallenge (run by @StudioTeabreak )on Twitter, and started to draw small and umimpressive doodles most days. It didn’t tire me out, let me be creative, and gave me a sense that at least I had done something ‘useful’ that day. It also offered a sense of community which had suddenly slowed to a trickle once my treatment started.
It was wonderful.
Now, 3 years later, I can draw so much better, and still love the artistic community and support on Twitter. Now I regularly take part on #PortraitChallenge which I never thought I would be good enough to do. Novices, book illustators and all sorts of creative types take part, and it’s great.
I also do drawings just for the sheer pleasure, and as gifts for friends. I have also contributed to the #breastcancerart project, which recognises the theraputic value of art for those living with or after cancer.
I realised that every time I draw, I feel happier. Some of the chaos of life is silenced and I have a little more peace. If something causes so much joy and isn’t illegal or bad for me, I would be crazy not to do it!
I believe that we are all made to be creative, but adult life squeezes it out of us until we are fooled into thinking that we can’t make or do anything beautiful. For some it’s visual art, others music, others baking, writing, carpentry or dance, but I believe that there is an artist in all of us, desperate to get out there.
Sometimes, I think that my drawing isn’t good enough to share, or that because I’m not using paint that it’s not ‘real’ art, or that people will judge me for showing off; but I know that those are lies and I will never be fully the person who I am made to be if I allow myself to be silenced.
And actually, what other people think of my art isn’t important (although of course I want it to be liked); because drawing makes me happy, and therefore is of great value. What could be simpler that that? 😊
For more info on #shapechallenge and #portraitchallenge
For more about the breast cancer art project, go to