Your guide to reconnecting with the kids

PARENTS are rubbish human beings who get everything wrong as they blunder about paying the mortgage and the bills and putting food on the table.

This leaves them hardly any time for their kids, so when the kids go out setting fire to cars, instead of doing their science homework, it’s the parents’ fault. Obviously.

What a relief that those helpful people at Ribena — the sugary drink — have collaborated with a child psychologist to formulate ‘12 minutes to reconnect’. You see, the average rubbish parent only spends 39 minutes a day of ‘quality’ time with their kids; after work, they are making dinner and washing up the breakfast dishes, and defleaing the cat, and searching for lost socks. According to 42% of parents surveyed by Ribena, this counts as a fail, in terms of meaningful interaction with their kids; half were worried they weren’t good enough parents during the week. (Is it just me, or does 39 minutes sound like an eternity?)

Ribena’s child psychologist suggests ways of reconnecting with the kids in under 12 minutes. With the under-eights, you could bake a cake or get them to make dinner or to teach you a dance routine. You know, right when you come in from work, and all you want is a stiff gin, while you are wearing ear plugs and locked in an empty room and staring at a blank wall. Ribena doesn’t specify which cake to bake, or which meal, but even Rice Krispie cakes and Pot Noodle take longer than 12 minutes if there are four-year-olds involved. Not having any four-year-olds, I ask the nine-year-old to show me a dance routine. He tells me I’m sad, and leaves the room, Gangham Style, rolling his eyes.

To reconnect with kids aged eight to 14, Ribena offer conversation openers. Here’s my favourite: “What science project are you doing at the moment, and can I help you with it?” I ambush the 12-year-old with this one, when she comes back from school late after a hockey match, sweaty and starving. I keep a straight face as I ask her. She looks at me in mild concern, the way you would an old lady wandering into the traffic. “What are you talking about? You know nothing about science,” she says.

I try another question from the 12-minute Ribena list. “Where are you off to with your friends this week?” This time, she is staring at me with frank alarm. “Are you alright, Mum?” she asks. I nod enthusiastically. “Tell me some school gossip,” I say, repeating the Ribena script. By now, she is stony-faced. “Why,” she asks, “are you acting like this? You know perfectly well what I’m doing at the weekend. The roller disco, like every weekend. You’re driving me there, remember? And you’re always saying gossip is bad, but now you’re asking me to gossip? And you want to do my science homework?” Contempt is creeping in to her incredulity, so I fess up that I am conducting a sociology experiment. She snorts, rams on her headphones and plugs into her laptop.

Maybe I’ll do better with the nine-year-old. He’s more bribable. I sidle up to him on the sofa and whisper, “Want to make a cake with me?” Without even glancing away from the football on Sky Sports, he shakes his head. “You make it,” he says. “If you hurry, you’ll be in time for the second-half.” He means the match, not the cake. God, this reconnecting thing is hard work. “I have a great story for you, but I want one in return. You first.” I repeat from the Ribena script, as naturally as I can. “Shut up Mum, will you, and stop acting weird,” he says, eyes glued to the football. “Go and make the cake and stop bugging me.”

I’m not sure if I can be bothered with all this reconnecting business. The 12-year-old is in her room, happily reading some Hunger Games spin-off; the nine-year-old is hypnotised by the UEFA Champions League, and, frankly, I too would rather be watching Barcelona v Bayern than orchestrating bonkers conversation about gossip, science projects and a cake I have zero intention of making.

I reconnect with the nine-year-old by watching Barca getting trashed (we share Lidl pretzels, not anything homemade), and, later, I hear the 12-year-old on the phone to her friend. “Yeah,” she is saying. “I don’t know what was wrong with her, but she seems to be back to normal again. Yeah, swearing at the football. Did yours offer to help with your science homework?”