Cleaning the cars

I asked Charlie if he’d like to clean the inside of both cars for a tenner.
‘Err. No thanks,’ he replied.
I asked Max if he’s like to clean the inside of both cars with me for a fiver.
‘Err. Ok,’ he replied.
It was some days before the timing was right, but eventually Max declared he was,
‘Going to clean the cars now.’
He had just come back from Lords with Paul and Charlie. (Purely for the egg mayonnaise sandwiches) and was head to foot in ‘posh’ gear.
‘Ok lovely, best get changed though’.
‘Oooh, no! Mum!’
I gave it a minute; Max is never good at getting his head around things at speed. His irritation at me suggesting that he change was a perfect example of how he sees clearly that the idea is sound, but can’t be bothered and thinks if he just stalls, something will change. Plus his thought processes are just never immediate, he needs time, sometimes a great deal of it. In fairness to him, given time, he manages to make the leap from where he was, and get up to speed with the correct way of thinking and move on. He soon managed it now.

Five minutes later he arrived in the kitchen dressed to clean.
I decided I’d play a minor role in the cleaning and directed Max to the cleaning cupboard for the cloths, furniture polish and glass cleaner, and to the floor of the pantry for the Hoover. He enthusiastically collected all the items and headed for the front door. I felt my initial sense of trepidation float away, as I searched for the extension lead for the Hoover.

By the time I got outside Max had begun. He was furiously spraying and polishing a side mirror.
‘Inside the car Babe. Remember what I said?’
‘Oh, mum! - Headlights?’
‘Sweetheart just inside today, you need to clean all the mirrors and windows and the plastic bits, inside.’ I gave it a minute.
Max stormed off to get the car keys from inside the house, but emerged with a smile back on his lovely face. He clicked the remote, which he loves to do, and the car beeped open. He then opened the door, threw the keys inside a shut the door again.
‘Can you put the keys in your pocket Max ?’
‘No.’
‘It’s sensible to put the keys in your pocket because if you leave the keys inside the car, it can automatically lock them in.’
‘Oh.’
Max opened the door, reached for the keys and put them in his pocket - a small battle won. (Although I did get a filthy look.)
He really was doing a good job and attacking it with gusto. I thought I’d make a start with the Hoover; I was bound to get shouted at if Max thought I was slacking.
I bent down into the front of the car and was overwhelmed with furniture polish fumes. A great deal of spraying was going on. Max had emptied over half of the can onto the back leather seats and was furiously wiping with his cloth.
‘Excellent Max, not quite so much spray though eh?’
‘Oh, Mum!’
Now was the time for me to realise it was in my best interest to just keep quiet and let him get on with it, his way. And not a bad way too, he chattered to himself as he briskly went over all the seats and plastic and then moved on to the windows and glass. The rear-view mirror was dribbling glass cleaning fluid, but I bit my tongue and went to fetch a big black bag for the rubbish.

When I arrived back, Max was in the boot in fits of giggles.
‘Mum, I got locked in the boot!’
I let him out and he happily trotted around to the front where he finished off his polishing. For some ten minutes we beavered away side-by-side, Max barking out the odd command or complaining that I was in his way, but overall, a harmonious, joint effort. I really felt that Max had accomplished all I had asked of him when he shouted,
‘Mum, I’ve finished!’
‘Brilliant mate, lets lock up this car and move on to Dad’s.’
I thought he was going to throw a wobbly, but no, he looked over at Paul’s car and said,
‘Ok.’
I was impressed. What a little worker, such enthusiasm too. We both moved on to the next car after Max expertly locked my car up and replaced the keys in his pocket. As if by magic the keys to Paul’s car were produced from his other pocket and he unlocked it, raring to go.

Same drill as before and no real slacking either. I made sure I gave him lots of encouragement and kept hinting that we were over half way through the task and really nearly finished now. He plodded on with his polishing and spraying. The furniture can was completely empty by now, which was perhaps a good job, those fumes! Still, he soldiered on with just a very wet cloth and did a magnificent job.

We had it cracked in no time and Max was positively thrilled with himself. Paul was ordered down from his office to survey his sparkly clean car and gave the suitably required praise and appreciation.
I just handed over my fiver.

Food & Wrestling

There are two things of great, but equal importance to Max, food and wrestling. Food just tips it. He has even confused the merits of religion, with the merits of food. Not particularly hard to do when you think about it. All religions seem to gather people together with the allure of a feast!

A few weeks ago Max came home from school declaring that he was going to fast the next day because of his religion. To be clear, as a family we are not religious, very welcoming to the beliefs of others, and like Max, rather enjoy all the religious festivals involving food, but are not participants. Paul was born Jewish but has gone off the rails since then – big time, for one thing, he’s married to me. I am not Jewish, but we are surrounded by people we love, who are. Many celebrate the festivals and all the delicious food this entails and Max embraces this marathon of eating wholeheartedly. I applaud such dedication, but I was unaware of any festival coming up on the horizon.

So I was puzzled, as well as astonished that Max proposed to fast. With a little detective work I figured he must be talking about Ramadan. One or two of the boys (there are no girls in Max’s class) could possibly be Muslim, so I pointed out that it was probably a Muslim, not Jewish festival, but Max was having none of it. He was determined to fast for the day and that was that. I can only imagine that there had been a discussion of some great culinary reward.

The following morning I chose to ignore our conversation of the previous evening and I placed Max’s beloved bread and butter in front of him, to be met with his usual gleeful greeting. So I’ll admit I was surprised, but made no comment, when after he’d finished his breakfast Max made a big fuss about replacing the contents of his lunchbox into the fridge, suggesting I was a very silly mum for forgetting that he was fasting for the day.

Carol and Pauline the driver and escort of his bus to school, fell about laughing when Max declared he was fasting for the day. His reputation as a foodie is huge, but he was not amused at their jesting.
Later in the day I arrived at Max’s school to take him to his tutor Julia. I was immediately greeted with,
‘Where’s my lunch?’
‘Oh, Max. I thought you were fasting my love.’
Wicked I know, but I just couldn’t resist it. And Max’s reply was an unimpressed grunt. Still, it was rather amusing and I suppressed a smirk as I handed him his packed lunch. He was soon munching on a favourite egg mayonnaise sandwich. Perhaps the path of dedicated religion is not for Max after all.

Wrestling does come a very close second in importance for Max. He adores the whole drama and festival of the sport. My Grandmother was the same. I still remember her raising her fist at the telly in triumphant adulation as Big Daddy was pummelled into submission. She too loved the drama and took great delight in verbalising her thoughts for all to hear. I just saw old men with rotund tummies wearing big black pants. And that whole counting thing..... What is that?

Max has some wrestling idols. On Saturday he took a computer printout of John Cena (seriously important wrestler) to the barbers and demanded to be able to walk out looking like his hero. Very smart it looked too. I’m a little concerned about the tattoos these beefy giants rejoice in littering on their skin, (although I am attracted to such graffiti in a weird kind of way) but that’s a bridge we will have to cross when we come to it. For now, I’m happy to waive goodbye to Max and Paul as they pop to Brent Cross shopping mall in order to cruise along the isle in Top Man looking for ‘bling’.


It’s a passion he shares with his mate Robbie. Thank goodness neither of them have been drawn to ‘acting out’ any matches. They both prefer to get right up close to the television screen and be drawn into the pantomime. I’ve noticed that a great deal of interest has developed towards the female wrestlers and all their beauty. Suddenly Max and Robbie are keen to watch the girls strut their funky stuff as well as the men. The outfits are astonishing and born from such ingenuity!

They relish the full glamour of WWE, RAW and Smack Down and save up for DVDs and Wii games, proudly wear t-shirts with their idols full frontal and get over excited when something new is due to hit the shops. But they are also just as happy to buy tickets for the local wrestling matches held at the church hall up the road and refereed by the vicar, Father Benjamin.

Whatever Max’s passions are, you can guarantee that he will pursue and enjoy them with gusto. He is completely nonjudgmental, embracing all that life throws at him, very sure of what he wants and determined to get it. Compromise is not a word he is comfortable with, but he soon moves on if it’s made clear to him that something is impossible or not appropriate. He is a joy to watch when he’s having fun. And it’s not because fun passes his way infrequently, on the contrary, but because he demonstrates a joy of life that needs to be rejoiced in all of us – we just need reminding and thankfully, I have Max to do that for me.