Category Archives: Children

Minecraft: The gaming obsession

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I can’t remember exactly how it started. I think we downloaded the free version as a reward, because some of the children on the school bus were playing it.

Nor can I remember when we upgraded from Minecraft Lite to the full-blown, paid-for game (and lost control). But one thing I am sure of is: my boys are OBSESSED.

Not just in a passing phase sort of way, but in a ‘we could play this 24/7 if you’d ONLY let us’ kind of way.

And, little did I know that the gaming phenomenon would lead to this bizarre conversation with the 5-year-old addict the other day.

“ LB, I’ve ordered the cake for your party on Sunday – it’s a Minecraft cake! Look, I’ll show you,” I said, opening up my computer and clicking on the picture, depicting Minecraft Steve, a creeper, a zombie and some squared-headed animals.

I sat back expectantly, feeling sure I’d trumped last year’s Titanic cake, waiting for the best-cake-ever response from my Minecraft-mad youngest.

“Aw, Mum, I wanted Squid on my cake!” he replied. [Squid, I discovered later, is an eight-tentacled creature, with blueish-teal skin and teeth underneath his pixelated head – who knew!]

“Squid, or IBallisticSquid?” Son1 piped up. … [Eh??????]

And, with that, I realised it was time I found out more about their obsession – because, like a typical Minecraft parent, I’ve been worried recently that it might be rotting their still-developing brains.

The picture on the video game cake - I blame it on LB having an older brother

The picture on the video-game cake – I blame it on LB having an older brother

For those who’ve never come across Minecraft before, it’s relatively simple: the game is set in a virtual world made of cubes of different materials (rock, sand, wood, lava and many more) and the goal is to craft, or build, structures out of these blocks, kind of like digital Lego.

It’s not terribly violent; in ‘survival mode’, you have to catch and slaughter a few animals to get food and the zombies can kill you, but in ‘creative mode’, Minecraft is all about building, exploration, creativity and even working together.

My children are members of a mind-bogglingly large and devoted congregation. The freeform building game has 33 million users, many of whom are youngsters aged between 7 and 15 – mainly boys, who see it as their religion.

I’m assuming my sons are typical here, but if they’re not playing Minecraft, they want to spend an unbelievable amount of time watching YouTube videos of other people playing the game. Minecraft celebrities, such as Stampy Longnose, are well-known in our household, and the boys can link servers to ‘play’ with each other.

Lego-mad from a young age, Son1 was drawn to digital Lego like bees to honey

Lego-mad from a young age, Son1 was drawn to digital Lego like bees to honey

My sons are clearly addicted, however, and forewarned by a friend at work about the lengths these kids will go to (she discovered her teenager was playing for several hours after everyone had gone to bed), we limit the boys’ screen time, much to their chagrin.

You can imagine my dismay, then, when Son1 had to miss swimming at school recently, and told me he’d spent the time playing Minecraft on the computer.

“Really?” I gulped, slightly stunned by this news and annoyed that the school was feeding his habit.

Until I researched it further and found out that the game is actually being used around the world to educate children on everything from science to city planning. It’s been shown to extend kids’ spatial reasoning and constructing skills; and in Sweden, where the game originates from, a school has even made Minecraft compulsory for its 13-year-old students.

So, I’ve decided to fret less over their obsession and take heart in the fact they’re actually collaborating with each other to build these amazingly imaginative worlds and know far more about servers and networks than me. Obviously it’s everything in moderation, but I’m cheered by the news that Minecraft is more than just another video game. I’m also trying to take more of an interest, even in the geeky Minecraft celebrities.

The trouble is, my boys are now attempting to set me a new technical challenge of brain-bending proportions. “Mum, how can we upload videos of us playing Minecraft onto YouTube?”

Stampy Longnose … Squid … you have a lot to answer for.

Questions about heaven

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My 7 year old is beginning to work out that we aren’t immortal and has lots of questions about heaven.

I was walking past the boys’ bedroom tonight, as DH tucked them up, and overheard a rather deep conversation about the after-life, which made me pause and linger outside the door a little longer than I meant to.

“Are you a child or an adult when you go there?” he asked. [Perhaps best not to discuss this at bedtime.]

“And what do you do in heaven?” he continued, resting his chin on the bunk-bed rail. “Are there lots of fun things up there?”

I couldn’t really hear DH’s answers, but Son1 carried on in earnest, his interest clearly piqued.

“How does everyone fit on the cloud?” [I craned my neck at this point to try to hear how DH would explain the metaphysical cloud.]

“Can I take the iPad Daddy?”

 

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Silent Sunday: How 7y/o boys think

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Driving along the other day, we find ourselves behind this van. Son1, suddenly displaying great interest in the traffic, pipes up from the back: “Look!” And then without missing a beat, excitedly asks: “D’you think that van explodes a lot?”

Sorry Son1, just a boring old delivery service!

Sorry Son1, no dynamite. Just a boring old delivery service!

Silent Sunday: Here we go again…

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I know it’s cheating to use a someecard as a Silent Sunday picture, but given that my brain is currently boggling trying to grasp the whole back-to-work, back-to-school merry-go-round, this one rings true. So, tell me, at what age do children start managing their own schedules, PE kit/swimming bags, lunch boxes, labelled piece of fruit every day? I’ve a feeling it’s still years away!

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School run survival tips

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The daily transfer of your offspring to school is not without its challenges, as every mum knows. Forewarned is forearmed, so if the long summer break has left you feeing a little rusty, here are my back-to-school tips and tricks:

– It might feel like the middle of the night, but get up with plenty of time to spare – this is your chance to get your own back on your sleeping children for all those early starts.

– Shovel on more make-up than you’ve worn all holiday, comb hair and pay special attention to your chosen outfit.

– Ensure school-sized sprogs are fed and have cleaned their teeth, without staining their uniform. Remember, the slightest trace of breakfast cereal or toothpaste will take on a luminous glow at the worst possible moment.

– Channel your inner drill sergeant to get the children out the door.

– Drive your seven-seater to within a hair’s breadth of the school gates, ramming other cars if necessary and double-parking if there’s no room. Just put your hazards on if you’re unsure and look busy, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

– Shepherd the children through the gates – remember, serenely does it. No shouting, or pushing. (You should probably practise gliding the night before.)

cartoon-shopaholic

– Don’t look too happy, or sad. Oversized sunglasses will hide any tears and inky mascara smudges, but a whoop of relief can’t be disguised.

– Have a story ready about the luxury, handmade yurt your family stayed in on holiday. (Yachts are so yesterday.)

– Try not to linger too long– you’re blocking several people in outside the gate, don’t forget, even your best friend.

– Watch the handbags-at-dawn fashionista mums go head-to-head on the school runway and vow to get up even earlier the next morning to wash hair.

– Put them to bed in their school uniforms that night.

Happy school runs everyone!

The 4-year-old’s bedtime shot

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Here in the Circles household, we’re trying hard to yank the children’s bedtime (and mine) forward so that when the new term begins in three days’ time, those red-eye early school start times (7.45am) don’t give us jet lag, all over again.

Of course, stopping wild horses in their tracks would be easier.

536794_639927182698099_1374862493_n“C’mon boys, bedtime!” I said last night.

Repeat x10.

“Can we have a day off from shower? We want a day off from shower!”

“No, look how dirty your feet are. Upstairs, now.”

Son1, who is getting more compliant as he gets older, climbs the stairs, leaving Son2 rooted to the sofa.

“I’m NOT going to bed. I’m not.” [pauses for effect]. “I hate you, and I DON’T LIKE your hair!”

Three days Son2, three days…

That’s all.

Geographical schizophrenia

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“I’m hot. Why do we have to live here?” Son1 asks petulantly, after coming in from the heat outdoors.

He looks at me with accusatory, dark-brown eyes, his cheeks flushed red and a bead of sweat trickling down his sticky forehead.

“Well, Daddy got a job here,” I explain, for the umpteenth time. “You know Daddy AND Mummy have to work to pay for all the thing you want, right?

“Besides, it’s our home and we’re very lucky to live here.”

He goes quiet for a few seconds.

“But WHY can’t we live in England?”

At this time of year, Dubai mummies are leafing through their little black book of playdates

At this time of year, Dubai mummies are leafing through their little black books (for playdates)

I explain, again, that, if we moved to England, it wouldn’t be summer all year round. There wouldn’t be fun outings every day, ice cream on demand and late bedtimes. It would rain, a lot.

“And,” I counter, trying to define winter to a child who has no recollection of this particular season, “You’d have to go to school there – and come home in THE DARK.”

I do get it, and I feel it too. Returning to the scorched, dog days of a Dubai summer after spending time in the motherland with family isn’t easy for many expats. It’s infernally hot, most friends won’t surface until school starts, everything is covered in a veil of atom bomb dust and the air is heavy with sand.

But it’ll pass Son1, you know it will. It’s the same each year and, soon, we’ll be dancing to the tune of glorious sunny days, under blue skies, with school in full swing. (Did you hear me whoop?)

In the meantime, darling Son1, could you please STOP whining – I’ve rallied every single 6-8-year-old playmate I can find within a five-mile radius and am on the verge of booking a reality-check trip to the northern hemisphere. In January. THEN, you’ll see, there’s no perfect place to live.

A very special flight

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I can’t let our homecoming pass without saying a few words about our flight back: DH was ‘driving’, and while I’ve been his passenger a few times now, it was the first time he’s flown our fledglings in a commercial airliner.

And, yes, it was a great flight, not least because the bribe potential in telling the children that if they didn’t behave, Daddy would ‘land this plane right now’ or put them ‘outside on the wing’ was HUGE. (Sipping celebratory Champagne and nibbling on Godiva chocolates helped too, of course.)

But, if the truth be told, the boys were as good as gold. At the gate, they squished their noses against the terminal window, trying to see through the darkened glass of the cockpit. They (and about 10 other little boys also lined up) were rewarded when DH stuck a sun-tanned arm out his window to wave.

You could tell each awe-struck boy thought the wave was directed at him and when I got talking to an Australia-bound Dad on the full flight later on, we agreed not to burst his son’s bubble. Pilots should wave more, they really should. It makes people so happy.

DH in his office

Airbus A380: DH in his office

On board, we waited patiently for DH to make an announcement (it sounded nothing like him!), and, while I’d instructed Son1 not to go telling everyone, his excitement bubbled over every now and then. “My Daddy’s flying this plane,” he told a flight attendant, *beaming with pride*.

We arrived in Dubai (nice landing, DH!) and were invited to come forward to see what to me looks like the Starship Enterprise. “Just don’t touch anything,” I urged them, as we climbed the stairs to the flight deck. “If you feel like you want to press something, JUST DON’T,” I pleaded, paranoid that they’d set off the emergency slides or a million-dollar fire-hydrant system.

I needn’t have worried; they were awed into silence by the countless screens and switches, and could barely breathe they were so impressed. (Too bad my work doesn’t have the same effect; I swear they think my sole purpose in life is to fetch them things from the supermarket.)

All too soon, it was time to deplane and make our way into Dubai’s cavernous, gleaming airport, where taking the new train triggered fresh excitement. It was well past midnight when the children and I joined the taxi queue. “We don’t want a pink taxi. We want a red one,” they chanted, in unison, demonstrating to me once again that, while my boys will never be interested in any of the girlie things that make me tick, I adore their transport-mad ways.

Home sweet Dubai

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We arrived back in the sandpit on Sunday, but it’s taken me until today to resurface – because, despite there being a tiddly three hours’ time difference in summer, I always develop a flu-like case of jet lag when travelling eastwards (pathetic, I know!).

My pilot DH has to put up with me lamenting about needing to sleep, but never at the right time (at bedtime, I’m bog-eyed with a fidgety wakefulness for hours), and believe me, he shakes his head at me, absolutely dumbfounded that anyone could be so utterly *hopeless* at jet lag.

While this should only apply to mums travelling back from the US or Canada, with an 8-hour-plus time change, it's not far off.

She’s travelled back from the US. I have no excuse.

“But I think I was still on a mid-Atlantic time zone after the US,” I protest, with a yawn. “You have to fight it,” he responds, at a loss.

And so it goes on: me plodding through the day, which has a surreal, otherworldly quality when you’ve just landed in the post-apocalyptic 43° heat of the desert, and unable to sleep at night; him business as usual despite having flown to six different time zones while we were away.

Aside from the insomnia (which the kids also have. Ugh.) and the wading through hot treacle, the other thing about arriving back in Dubai after a long period away is the brain dump that takes place while travelling. Simple things, like the route to your local retail centre, making a packed lunch, or locating the cupboard in which mugs are kept, require deep thought, while grocery shopping feels like a thousand-piece 3D puzzle.

Still, even though I drifted onto the highway today in a daze rather than into the supermarket car park, and have climbed the staircase a total of eight times tonight to soothe the two riving insomniacs upstairs, it feels good to be home.

EDITED TO ADD: At 11.30pm and decamped to the children’s room with my laptop, I can now say, hand on heart, jet lag is the SCOURGE of summer travel. Sigh.

Silent Sunday: Summer camp

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Camp has got to be one of the greatest inventions known to mumkind, especially in countries where the summer vacation goes on…and…on. This camp, I’m not so sure about, however. At Happy Camp, participants should maintain a general sense of anxiety at all times:

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Thank you to Nina at Francey Pants for this photo.