Learner Dad: We eat porridge so we can look down on people who give kids sugary cereal

Picture: iStock 

My son had a what’s-it-all-about moment yesterday morning .

I t started when I told him to hurry on and finish his porridge, it was time to go to school.

He didn’t take it well.

“Dad, I’ll finish this, and then there will be lunch and dinner, and then porridge again tomorrow and lunch and dinner after that, and on and on.”

He’s only eight – it seems a bit early for an existential crisis.

I think there are two problems here. It’s May. And the porridge itself.

We have porridge every morning because it helps us to look down on people who give their kids sugary cereal. W hy else would you sentence yourself to a lifetime of gruel?

O ur kids can tolerat e porridge as long as we dose it up with enough honey. But even then it’s beige and uninviting, something to be endured.

There’s another problem with porridge. It goes hard and lumpy and even more uninviting if you leave it for a few minutes. That’s grand if you are serving it up to a fully awake person who is already sitting at the table. But that’s the exact opposite of our kids on a school morning.

I call them out of bed straight after the porridge comes out of the pot. That means five minutes of staring into space, rubbing of eyes and complaining about their terrible lives before they take the first spoon of gruel. At this point, it’s not unusual for one of them to get up and head for the toilet. So the second spoon of porridge could be seven or even ten minutes after it was ready, depending on how long they spend in the toilet. 

The porridge is now dangerously close to inedible. My wife and I are dangerously close to a nervous breakdown, because the school bus is on the way. About now is the point when I start to think a bowl of Frosties wouldn’t do them any harm.

But people would judge us as bad parents, s o the porridge stays. It’s a useful reminder that most days are routine and dull , and that’s not always a bad thing.

I don’t think it’s just porridge is giving my son the hump, though. I reckon he has a problem with the month of May.

I always liked May as a child – the long days,  Manchester United were usually in the running for silverware , the choir singing Queen of the May at mass would give hope to anyone,

But May isn’t what it used to be . Man United are in contention for nothing and it’s been a while since I’ve heard anyone singing a hymn.

The weather, particularly this year , has a fierce bang of late March about it. Thirteen degrees and breezy isn’t going to give anyone a lift.

My son’s porridge outburst was saying what we’re all thinking – give us a b reak, a bit of time off the hamster wheel.

One or two of you are probably thinking, cop on, your son is just back after Easter holidays. Sorry now, Easter holidays are a pain unless you go away on vacation. At best, it’s average weather, giddy kids, and parents trying to work around whatever camps we squeezed them into.

No, we need our summer holidays. We need to pull the front door closed behind us and go to some place with a pool and kids clubs and shorts and sandals.

I don’t think this has anything to do with Covid. It’s been a hard couple of years for everyone, but my kids start to flag in May every year. There hasn’t been a genuine break in our routine since Christmas, and that’s a long time when you’re seven years of age.

The temperature is up a bit today, enough to hint that summer is finally on the way. There’s nothing for it now but to plough on through to late June.

We’ll be going on holidays in five weeks,  back to the Mediterranean for the first time in three years. There will be sun and swimming and slides. And we’ll all eat Frosties for breakfast. And lunch as well.