kids story

The Uncle Michael Turkey

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After my brother in law, Michael, passed away, I wrote down a few small stories about him. Not the big ones. Just the ones that made me smile when I thought about them. This is the first.

We were at my sister’s place after the funeral, when M told this story. When the kids were little, they used to do the usual school projects. One year, A made one of those classic hand turkeys. You trace your hand, turn it into a turkey, and on each finger you write something important to you.

On most of the fingers, she put exactly what you would expect from a three or four year old. Family. Home. Simple, generic things.

But on one of the fingers, she wrote “Uncle Michael.”

That was it. No other specific people. No friends. No teachers. Just Uncle Michael, singled out and given his own finger on the turkey.

Even back then, he just had that way with kids. They were drawn to him immediately. He did not try very hard. He did not need to. They just liked him.

What struck me was realizing how few people knew the story. When we mentioned it, my mom was surprised she had never heard it before. Somehow it had just stayed with us.

It feels like such a small thing. A hand turkey from a preschool classroom. But it says a lot.

Some people leave impressions without even realizing they are doing it. Michael was one of those people.

No photo of the turkey I am afraid. its in storage after thanksgiving and I am not going to hunt for it!

The Cat, the Blanket, and the Blame

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For Christmas, M bought me a very comfortable throw blanket.

Well. Presumably for me. Possibly for the cat. Or is it for the cat and I wanted it. I forget.

The idea was simple. Leave it on top of the comforter so there is something extra cozy. This matters because sometimes the cat comes onto the bed, and when it was warmer out, I could just peel part of the comforter off myself, drop it on top of him, and he would happily snuggle into it and fall asleep.

He is a Devon Rex. He likes warmth. A lot.

If I do not do that, he might crawl fully under the covers and turn himself into a little croissant right next to me. Or, more often than not, directly on top of me. That is a whole separate story involving him sitting on my chest while I sleep. Which, if I am being honest, is actually pretty comfortable once he settles down.

The only downside is the settling down part. There is some light clawing involved. Not aggressive. More exploratory. It sounds worse than it is.

Anyway.

In the winter, sharing the comforter like that does not really work. Giving him his own blanket on top is much easier. He can be moved. I can adjust. Everyone wins.

This is where things get complicated.

For a while now, A has had a fuzzy blanket that she wraps him up in. He sleeps in her bed, and she basically curls herself around him. She does not care that she is practically on top of him. He does not care either. This has been their arrangement for some time.

So when the new blanket appeared on our bed, A immediately declared that I was stealing him from her.

Now, she was mostly kidding. Mostly. But what she very conveniently glossed over was the fact that he originally slept with us, and only relocated because she provided a better blanket based incentive program.

I honestly did not think this would change anything. She goes to bed earlier. She snuggles him aggressively. I assumed he would continue choosing her.

Instead, what has been happening this week is that he hangs out downstairs with us in the evening, usually on someone’s lap, because he is essentially a heat vampire. Then he moves upstairs and parks himself on the radiator until about midnight, enjoying what I can only describe as a personal sauna.

After that, he chooses a bed.

And apparently, he has been choosing the one with the new blanket.

Here is the part that makes this truly unfair.

I am getting blamed for all of this.

Despite the fact that he is actually cuddling next to M, not me. Despite the fact that I did not invite him. Despite the fact that I did not even buy the blanket, although I did ask for it often.

A is not having any of it. It is still my fault.

Not that it really matters to me.

I am just saying.

When Eleven Was Fine and Twelve Showed Up Anyway

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I am struggling to believe that I have a twelve year old.

A turns twelve today, and I told her very clearly that I am not ready for that. I was fine with an eleven year old. Eleven felt manageable. So my suggestion was that she could just stay eleven for another year and we would all be good.

She immediately said she would rather not repeat year six, so that was a hard no. We laughed. I smiled.

I have noticed this pattern with myself. When T gets a year older, I feel a little sad about it, but I can rationalise it. I tell myself that A is still younger. There is still a buffer. Someone is still firmly in the little kid category, so everything is fine.

But when A gets older, there is no one left to cushion it.

That is it.

They are both getting older, and there is no younger sibling behind them to make it feel less final. That realization hits differently.

I always knew this was how it worked. When they were two or three, I would catch myself thinking, at least they are not ten yet. Or twelve. Those numbers felt far away. Abstract. Something I could worry about later.

Now they are past that line. They are still little in so many ways, but they are also not. And that is the part that keeps sneaking up on me.

It is strange, because I genuinely love the people they are becoming. I like talking to them. I like seeing who they are turning into. I am proud of them. All of that can be true at the same time as this quiet sense of something slipping by.

So yes, today A turns twelve.

I am not ready for that.

But here we are.

W Sisters and Watching Space Chris

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When the girls were really little—the still-talking-funny, wide-eyed-about-everything little—we kept screen time on a tight leash. No endless YouTube spirals, no algorithm babysitting. Just carefully chosen things that felt worth their attention.

One of those things turned out to be the astronauts aboard the International Space Station.

At first, I thought it would be a novelty, a quick peek at floating hair and zero-gravity toothpaste. But they loved it. They really loved it. Especially Commander Chris Hadfield, or as he became known in our house: Space Chris.

They’d watch him make a sandwich in microgravity or explain why you can’t cry in space. The girls giggled through every video, fascinated not just by the floating things but by the idea that people actually live up there.

Chris was such a natural communicator. He didn’t just talk science; he made space feel human. That kind of thing sticks with kids. It stuck with me too.

When his autobiography came out, I didn’t read it right away, but because of those videos, I wanted to. And when I finally did, I enjoyed it. Later I read two of his novels—the first one was pretty good, the second one not so much, but still worth the read.

Even now, when I come across something about him or the space station, I think back to those days when the W Sisters were small and completely captivated by Space Chris. Watching them watch him was just as much fun as the videos themselves.

I like to think those moments gave them something lasting—maybe not a love of space exactly, but at least a curiosity that lifts off now and then. And that’s enough for me.

W Sisters and The Minecraft Experience

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Over the term break before school started, I did a bunch of day trips with the girls. One they were especially excited about was the Minecraft Experience.

They both play Minecraft on their iPads, and one even shares a realm with the other so they can build together. Most of what they do is in creative mode, so this experience was right up their alley. I was curious too. I’ve played Minecraft, but not often. The motion and movement on screen usually gives me a headache, the same way first-person shooters like Halo used to. That’s a whole other story for another time.

The Experience itself is near Canada Water on the Jubilee line. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it turned out to be pretty cool. You’re given these glowing orbs (Bluetooth or NFC, I assume) and as a group you complete tasks to save your village. The first couple of rooms ease you into how the mechanics work. From there, you move through different spaces where the walls and floors themselves are interactive, with lots of projectors, sensors, and some interactive tables thrown in. You use the orb to trigger actions, and it changes colours as you go. The whole thing felt very Minecraft in style.

The girls loved it. It lasted about an hour, which felt a little short given the price, but the experience itself was worth it. The only disappointment was the merchandise shop at the end. Everything was overpriced and nothing really stood out as worth buying. We skipped it and went on to do some shopping, grab lunch, and make a day of it.

Overall, it was a fun trip, something different, and it definitely delivered the Minecraft vibe the girls had hoped for.

W Sister Short on Queen

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Paddington Bear Goggles

A while back, probably just a few years ago, A was in the middle of a tantrum. For reasons only she can explain, M decided the right response was to blast Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Not only that, she sang along at full volume. Somewhere between the guitar and the operatic breakdown, A’s tantrum fizzled out.

Say what you will about parenting techniques, but apparently Freddie Mercury trumps a tantrum. At least A’s taste in music held strong even then.

The Story of T Turning 13

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Today is T’s 13th birthday. She asked for a video from the time she was born. I wasn’t really sure why, but M remembered and we both took videos today at the time that corresponded to when she was born in New York, accounting for the five-hour time difference.

I am not at all ready to be the parent of a teenager. Over the weekend T baked chocolate chip cookies, and as a small reward for making it through the first morning of having a teenager in the house, I had one with my coffee.

W Sister Short and The TV Time Out

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I wrote this one over a year ago in July 2024, however still super cute.

The other day when walking home from school, I reminded the girls that they had less screen time today due to timeout from yesterday. I told them I couldn’t recall the exact quantities so I said let’s call it 10 minutes and 20 minutes respectively. A’s response was yes let’s, and she smiled. She and I both knew that she probably had more time than that, but I didn’t want to guess a much higher number so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Goodbye Primary, Hello Blazer’s

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Today was A’s first day of Year Seven. For her, it’s the start of high school, and she’s been excited about it for weeks. For M and me, it’s also a milestone: our youngest is now in high school.

For Americans, the translation is that “high school” here is closer to what would be middle school in the States. But regardless of labels, the feeling is the same. When T started last year, or whenever she reached some other milestone, my quiet consolation was always that A was still little. She hadn’t crossed that threshold yet, so I could still tell myself I had one more kid who wasn’t quite there.

Now that A has made the leap, that excuse is gone. My little baby is officially in high school. It’s a strange mix of pride, nostalgia, and the creeping realization that time really does move too fast.

Hopefully she had a good first day. She certainly looked adorable in the uniform, which feels like its own rite of passage.

Today’s musing is just me trying to catch up emotionally to where she already is: ready, eager, and growing up faster than I’d like.

I am in Denial About Having Another Tween

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All day today I told A she is still not yet 11 since the time she was born was late in the day UK time. She would argue with me about it. Then midway through the day I said ok I accept you are 11. She said no, don’t. She wanted to continue to argue with me. So I said “so you want me to continue to say I do not accept you are yet 11? She said yes”

So yes I am still not ready for another tween, but she refuses to listen. The fact that she enjoyed the arguing is an interesting tell for the future.