Who knows what tomorrow holds… we may just F@ck it up.

Yvonne Telford - 1 Apr 16

Any time one of my daughters has a bad dream, they don’t scream or cry. They wake up, quietly walk in the dark to my bedroom, (BTW our bedroom door is always opened except John and I are doing what adults should do more of when they are not knackered… wink, wink) wake me up and ask if they can lie down with me.

Last night, my older daughter Ola had a bad dream; she followed the above routine and said, “Mama, could I  please lie down with you, I just had a bad dream and I am scared.” I  was too tired to talk to her about the bad dream, I just raised the duvet motioning her to get in. She got in, I cuddled her and we both fell asleep. She was in our bed until John returned her to her own bed.

As disruptive as it may be that our daughters get into our bed in the middle night, I am glad they do. When I was growing up – bad dream or not – my parent’s room was a no-go area. It was sacred land. it was a place you did not enter unless you were sent there to fetch something. Also, I can’t remember telling my parents about a bad dream I’ve had. Or even having a conversation about what I was afraid or scared of. Basically, I did not talk to them the way my children now talk to me.

When I was in infants school, I remember being scared of the dark for months. My classmate had told me that someone was killed at the back of our class. He said the body was chopped up and some parts still remained there. Whether it was true or not, I believed him. I could not talk to my parents about it. Our relationship, like most Nigerian child-parent relationships in those days was fear-based. Looking back now, I am sure if I had gone to my parents, they would have listened and reassured me. But, I didn’t because we did not have that kind of relationship.

Luckily  I have built a good relationship with my daughters – at least for now. Who knows what tomorrow holds… we may just F@ck it up. I hate to admit it, but I think staying at home during the early years may have helped. In saying that, I must also say I hated staying at home – it killed me.

I also think walking them to and from school helped (and still helps) – I find that this is the time they just can’t shut up; they want to tell me about their day. Sometimes they even argue about who should speak first. If it is a day when I’ve worked and my brain is just not in the mood to listen, I pretend that I am. I find that when I drive, I don’t talk to them, Capital FM does all the talking… we just listen.

When we get round it, Our Circle Time on Fridays  helps.

Family meals (we eat together almost every night) has helped me foster a good relationship with my girls. This is the time we really talk about our day. This is also the time I tell them off for the things they did wrong that day! And sometimes, what they did right.

In short, as a family, we talk a lot. I let them talk, they let me talk and when I am tired of talking, I shout.

I’ll let you into a little secret, I don’t listen to my daughters all the time. How could I practically do that? I have got so many other things to get on with. I know well-meaning experts tell us to be present when we are with our kids but these experts are not going to do the laundry, make the dinner or check their homework.

Everything I have written here about what may have helped foster my relationship with my daughters is speculation. I can’t say for sure what I may have done right. It may just be luck. Whatever it is, I am glad my daughters can walk into my room, tap me on my shoulder and ask me if they could get into my bed because they’ve just had a bad dream. Something I couldn’t do with my parents.

Yvonne xxx

Yvonne Telford

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