Whilst I’m not deluded enough to honestly believe “my kids will tell me everything” I do like to think that I – and Grumpy Pants – have created a safe place for our kids to be able to discuss anything they need to with us.
After a slightly rocky start to the year, where by week three, Monkey Boy was not answering my “how was school today?” questions, he did alleviate my angst by saying “It’s ok, mum, I don’t have to tell you everything. Why do you have to keep asking? Just don’t, ok, it’s ok.”
Which, I suppose, is somewhat better than *grunt* and slamming his bedroom door.
Still, he has his moments where he does ask me things, and being at high school has given him even more of an insight into all manner of things … mostly along the sex and sexual lines, because they are all of ‘that’ age.
Some nights, at bedtime, he likes me to just go and lie next to him (he’s been reading to himself since about halfway through prep) and just chat. Sometimes it’s gibberish and rambling about some silliness that I can’t get my head around.
Other times, it is questioning something he heard at school, some discussion he was included in but has left him somewhat bewildered.
That happened a couple of nights ago, the retelling of some