Julie Jay: Much like fur gilets, nap times are a relic of the past

Both my husband and toddler are high-energy extroverts, while my idea of a dream holiday is sitting alone in a darkened room staring into space

Pic: iStock

We are back from our Spanish holibobs and absolutely pooped. It’s only when you spend seven days in the company of your family you realise just how energetic the main characters are. Between Ted and Fred’s high-velocity lifestyles, my goal this week is to spend an hour alone in a darkened room, recovering from it all.

If you are one of the many Irish people we met in Spain, may I extend apologies for my daily levels of panic around the pool. Due to Ted being a surprise sprinter, without any warning whatsoever, he can go from standing beside you to suddenly standing by the deep end, ready to cannonball into the water. I spent most days repeatedly screaming, ‘Ted! No!’ and chasing him around the sun-loungers like something out of a Benny Hill film. 

Both my husband and toddler are quintessential high-energy extroverts. They thrive on being around other people, preferably as many as possible. Fred is genuinely happy to see acquaintances in supermarkets while I go to deep levels of subterfuge to avoid the dreaded energy drain of actual chats.

During our holiday, Ted made many little friends, as kids do when thrown into a kiddy pool and told, ‘go and make little friends.’ Of all the friends, Ted was the only one who kept going from morning to dinner time minus the need for downtime, nap time, or even just ‘sitting staring into space’ time.

One evening he was following the lead of a Spanish child who fancied himself as a breakdancer. Ted copied this child twirling around the mini-disco dancefloor for 90 minutes before this miniature Emilio Estevez’s mother dragged him off to bed, much to his protestations.

As Emilio bellowed ‘arretez! arretez!’ the poor woman made eye contact with me, and as we exchanged a look of mutual understanding, she said, “These two boys, no low battery”.

It stayed with me for the rest of the week because Ted’s batteries never really run down, and as tiring as it is, I adore him for it. From breakfast time until bedtime, he powers through, excited about life and mad to talk to as many people as possible.

We are so lucky that he generally sleeps well through the night and isn’t one for waking up early. I dread getting himself and his father up for school. But the lack of downtime during
the day means you better have comfortable shoes on because you’ll be doing a lot of running. Much like fur gilets, nap times are a relic of the past. But unlike fur gilets, naps serve a very useful purpose: a midday breather and cup of tea.

Because Ted is very much his own man, he has always been a bit allergic to the concept of holding hands with me while out and about. “I do my own thing”, he announced as I attempted to hold onto him going through Barcelona airport security. Before I knew it, he had done a legger and was being chased by three members of staff, all of whom failed to apprehend him. Eventually, I managed to nab him as he stopped to pet the sniffer dog, much to the relief of the panting airport workers in his hot pursuit.

Shortly after we return home, I visit a relative, and we watch Ted run around the garden in circles for nearly an hour before he announces it’s time to go.

“He never stops, bless him,” the relative notes with genuine affection.

Not so long ago high energy in children was seen as something that should be contained, ordered, remedied. It was one of the things that never sat right with me as a teacher. More than once, I wondered if asking children to sit still and be quiet for hours every day was going against the very thing that makes kids, well, kids. I taught many always-on classes in my time and they were always my favourite, but at some point, I would have to interrupt the fun with a ‘cluasthuiscint’ or a bit of ‘aimsir chaite’.

“I love hanging out with you guys, but sadly I have to teach you”, I would
apologise, and proceed to ruin their day by making them learn something.

Fred often talks about having been one of those high-energy students, and it is easy to believe, especially at bedtime. Last night at 9.30pm I had just got Ted down after a day of serious cardio when Fred announced it was the perfect time for some Tina Turner Karaoke (Ar dheis dé go raibh a hanam dílis). After multiple renditions of ‘Simply The Best’, I call it quits at 10.30pm, just as Fred gets into his flow.

“Do you ever wonder how birds fly?” he muses as we tidy up the day’s carnage.

At that moment, his phone rings. It is one of his fellow nightowl friends looking to have a big chat at this unearthly hour. Rather than silence the call and roll his eyes like a normal human being, Fred’s face lights up and he answers with genuine joy at the prospect of a midnight debrief.

Fred still has the same energy he had when some poor ‘wan’ like myself was trying to teach him the curriculum in the 90s. Life hasn’t in any way dampened his spirits or drained his batteries, and I can only hope Ted is the same, that he is still approaching life with the same velocity in years to come.

But I definitely wouldn’t want to be the one trying to teach him the aimsir chaite.